Chandelier
by Melancholy's Child
Summary: Modern Day fic. Christine is interning in Paris when she stumbles behind a trap door and enters a masked man's underground domain. But this Christine is older, bolder, and haunted by scars of her own. Please see warnings. AWL-based with a bit of Kay. EC. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**This story got stuck in my head and refused to get out, so here you go. I wanted to explore an E/C fic from only Christine's POV. I also wanted a Christine who has gone through some horrible moments herself, which all have left her jaded, angry, and reluctant to get close to anyone. A submissive Christine has been done - this Christine is not one to sit around!  
**

 **This is a MODERN DAY fic. A blend of ALW's Erik and parts of Kay's canon. It's rated T for now, but some chapters will likely become M.  
**

 **WARNINGS: dark themes including illness, violence, and sexual situations.**

 **This fic is going to be a long and wild ride, spanning across the globe and taking place over about a year.**

 **I hope you enjoy. :) As always, please feed the writer.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

It was the last night of her internship, and Christine had just locked herself in the basement.

The stage manager had told her to do a quick mop of the stage before putting away the last of the costumes and stage props. She had spent the last two months doing whatever was asked of her – cleaning, organizing, running errands – just for the chance to watch and soak up whatever she could of life in a Parisian opera house, _the_ Parisian opera house, before she had to head back home to Boston.

Paris had been everything she had yearned for, the escape she'd wanted for the past two years. She had jumped at the chance to study abroad and intern at the Palais Garnier, the best known opera house in France. She loved anything with the stage and music. She had been a theatre geek in high school, performing whatever roles she could get here and there. Her major now was in stage management, at her mother's insistence for something more practical than mere singing or acting. She really could have done this internship anywhere, but she had needed to get out of her own city, to see somewhere far off, to lose herself in a new culture.

In Paris, she was just another face in the crowd, and she was allowed to blend into the background. She didn't speak French, but that didn't seem to matter. She had figured out the public transit without issue, used to Boston's own rails, and she had picked up enough of the language to order food and drink.

Christine didn't care about making friends anyway. After months of scrutiny from so many doctors, of near constant prodding and seemingly endless tests, she was all too happy to get away from it all. She _wanted_ to be left alone, needed it.

She had given her mother a key to her apartment, told her doctors where she was staying after she managed to get their approval, bought travel insurance just in case, and all but fled to Paris.

She loved the hard work of the backstage, even with the stage manager always at her heels. The Palais Garnier was everything she had wanted in an opera house. Grand, old, and full of spaces for her to explore on her breaks.

The curtain had closed on the last performance of _La Traviata_ she would see before she headed back home, and she had reluctantly agreed to be out of the building by 11:00 p.m. sharp. The four other interns had asked her out for drinks to celebrate the end of the summer, but she didn't feel much like celebrating. No, she wanted to stay here until they turned on the alarm and kicked her out, soaking up every last moment, every last smell and sound of the place.

She loved the silence after everyone had left. She had stood on the stage, behind the curtain, and breathed deeply. The smells, the silence, the light breeze on her arms from the vents high overhead, she wanted to memorize it all.

And then she realized she had fifteen minutes to stuff the last of the props away in the basement, grab her purse from the other side of the opera house, and shut the side exit door behind her before the alarm turned on.

She had grabbed an armful of the last of the wigs, and her feet echoed down the hallway. Many of the lights were already off, but she had travelled this way enough times that she thought she knew where she was going. Even though the Palais Garnier was filled with hundreds of rooms, she had memorized the layout during her long days spent here. She found the right door, twisted the knob with the back of her hand, and banged open the door with a knee. The light switch hung on the wall to the right, and the stairs angled downward sharply and to the left from the landing, plunging into inky darkness. Her elbow searched for the light switch while she tried to keep the door from sliding closed with a foot.

She stretched her arm out, searching, and her foot left the door a moment too long. The door shut with a thundering click behind her, leaving her blind in the dark. Immediately, her breath increased as she fought down panic. _Relax, Christine, it's only dark and the light switch it is right there._ _Just open the door_!

She piled the armful of props on the ground near the corner of wall and door. She tried the doorknob, but a quick jingle of the handle confirmed what she feared. The door had locked automatically behind her.

There was another door that led outside down here – this she knew. She had seen it. She just had to find it.

 _Stupid, Christine. You are definitely not brilliant tonight._ Her hand slid over the wall to her right, searching for the light switch. Now that her arms were empty, she found it after only a moment of searching. The room wasn't that big, a small basement in an opera house that had many alcoves like this one, but it was the only one of two that had a door that led outside.

The glow of the small light bulb hanging in the middle of the room did little to erase the shadows of the room. She was at once highly aware of just how alone she was in the building now. Was it past eleven o'clock yet? She should invest in a watch, but she usually had her cell phone in her back pocket. Of course, it was in her purse right now when she needed it the most.

She quickly grabbed up the wigs and tossed them into the appropriate bins in the room before she all but ran to the outside door. What if she set off the alarm? The question popped into her head but she pushed it away. She'd rather deal with pissed off management than stay in this dim basement any longer. The door was locked, which she expected, but she turned the small dial on the doorknob and threw back the deadbolt. She grabbed the doorknob with both hands, turned it, and pulled.

Nothing. The door didn't open. She twisted the knob the other way and pulled. It still didn't bulge. _Calm down, stay calm_ , she told herself. Maybe it was just stuck. She pulled and pulled. She braced one sneakered foot against the wall and yanked as hard she could, the very image of comic relief if she stopped to think about herself. Brown curls stuck to her forehead as she broke out in a sweat – not from exertion, but from the mounting panic that started to rise again.

Only after she kicked the door in frustration did she notice the second deadbolt at the top of the door. _Of course_. It was too high for her to reach with her five foot, two inch frame. She tried jumping and gave up after the second attempt, feeling the first tears begin to blur her vision. Didn't anyone ever leave the theatre this way? From the look of the dead bolts, which were certainly as old as the door, she guessed not. A quick glance around the room showed her nothing she could use to stand on. The props all fit into cabinets that were too heavy to move or bolted to the wall, and the props themselves were of no use.

She leaned against the door, her fate settling over her. The light bulb overhead flicked as though to mock her. She was doomed, at least until tomorrow. Luckily enough for her, it was a Saturday, which meant there was a matinee performance tomorrow afternoon. Someone would come searching for the wigs, wouldn't they? Of course they would. If nothing else, she could start banging on the door until they heard her and let her out.

Her flight home wasn't for another week, so she still had plenty of time to head back to her temporary apartment and pack up.

It would all be all right. _She_ would be all right.

She found a spot at the bottom of the stairs to sit, leaning against the cold stone of the basement wall. And this is how her internship would end – spending the night in a basement by herself. The air conditioning clicked on, pouring into the room via two vents in the ceiling. The sound of the fans was loud down here, no doubt located nearby. She knew they kept the opera house cold for the health of the props and those acting onstage under the fierce glare of the spotlights. Down here, it was freezing.

She scooted around to find a spot that didn't involve cold air blowing on her, and she finally found it under the stairs. She knew she shouldn't sleep under the stairs, where no one could see here if she opened the door, but she wouldn't be able to sleep if she was freezing anyway.

No sooner had she sat again, the bulb flickering overhead went out for a space of time no longer than four seconds. She froze, her breath caught in her throat, until light buzzed back on.

Then it went out again. She waited, staring into the pitch black, until it flickered on.

About thirty seconds later, it died a third time. This time, it didn't come back on.

Her own breathing was harsh in her ears. She knew she had a phobia of the dark, that she didn't do well when she couldn't see. After her first MRI had ended in a panic attack, her doctor had ordered that she be given heavy sedatives in the future. She tried to focus on her breathing, on drawing in air in a slow suck and letting it out in an even steadier stream. But when the light continued to stay off, those breaths quickened.

She couldn't see where the walls were anymore, couldn't tell if her eyes were open or shut. She grasped the wall with both hands behind her back as though the chilly stone could anchor her to a solid spot. If she could see, her vision would probably have started spinning. Her head felt light and a buzzing sounded in her ears.

With a sound that was half cry and half sob, she stood and tried to make her way to the stairs, thinking she would feel better hanging out at the top of the stairs until morning. In the blackness, she underestimated how low the steps hung.

Sparks shot across her eyes as fierce pain blossomed from her forehead. Soon, dampness trickled down her temple, cooling her skin under the air conditioning breeze.

She was so screwed. She needed to get _out_.

She felt blindly in the darkness for the edge of the stairs, trying to figure out how to get out from under them without causing herself further injury. In her haste, she fell back against the stone wall of the basement. She expected pain in her hand, but instead a rock in the wall seemed to shift backward under her palm. As she stumbled, a small section of the wall, no wider than a person, shifted to the side long enough for her to fall through.

Behind her, the stone wall slid shut, trapping her on the other side.

Christine tried to will her body to move. Her arms and legs wouldn't obey. The basement had been chilly from the air conditioning, but this new space into which she had fallen brimmed with damp and cold. She had fallen onto her hands and knees. The stone was freezing under her fingertips and covered in a light layer of grit.

Far away, she could make out the glow of a light. It flickered and danced in the distance as though it was a candle or torch. From this tiny bit of light, she could tell she was standing at the top of a narrow staircase that went straight down, cut into the rock itself. The other side of the stairs fell away into darkness.

She fought to control her breathing. If she passed out now, who knows what would happen to her. If there was a light, then maybe she had just stumbled into a different part of the opera house. She knew the Palais Garnier was _the_ opera house of Paris and filled with a rich history. She knew it contained many mysteries such as old passageways no longer used.

She took a deep suck of air and ventured a quiet, "Hello?"

The light began to move immediately, growing smaller. It was moving _away_ from her. Panic rose up stiff in her throat, and she broke out in a sweat that plastered her brown hair to the nape of her neck and caused her t-shirt to stick to her body.

"Wait!" she called out, louder, her voice sounding thin. She tried not to shriek, but probably failed. "Please, I'm lost!" Maybe they didn't speak English? " _S'il vous plaît!"_

Glancing down, she began to move quickly down the staircase, following the light. The stones were unevenly cut, and some of them were loose. More than once, she stumbled and had to grasp the wall with numb fingers. The trickle of blood down the side of her face tickled her, and she resisted the urge to swipe the back of her hand across it.

"Wait! I know someone is there! Please wait!"

Whoever it was, did they not hear her? Or wasn't that it? Maybe they were going in the opposite direction on purpose. Maybe they _had_ heard her, and they were trying to leave her there.

The light seemed to round a corner, throwing her back into shadows. She tried to keep up her quick pace, but it wasn't long before she lost her footing and slipped on a loose stone. Her left ankle rolled and pain shot across her foot. She launched herself against the stone wall to her right to keep from toppling into the darkness beyond the staircase.

Vertigo hit her hard, her vision swimming. The pain spread up the side of her calf, her foot feeling like a numb block inside her tennis shoe. Blindly, she prodded her ankle with shaking fingertips; it was already swelling. Sprained, at the very least.

She hadn't cried yet, hadn't let herself. But here in the dark, trapped beyond the basement of the opera house, alone where no one knew where she was, she let the tears that had burned her eyes since the door locked behind her finally spring to the surface of her eyes. They spilled hot and fast down her cheeks, cutting paths through the grime on her face.

How long she sat there, ankle throbbing, she wasn't sure. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing the tears to stop. She was calm, she was calm, she could keep going. A tentative pressure of her weight on her foot dissuaded her from attempting to stand. In this dark, she shouldn't move quickly anyway.

Onward. There was only one way to go _._

She began to scoot her way down the stairs. Her uninjured foot searched for the next step, and the rest of her followed in a slow crab crawl across the stone. Her ankle felt heavy and her hands began to numb on the frigid rock, but she continued on. She really had no choice.

After a while of slow progress, she found the turn in the staircase where the light had disappeared. In fact, the staircase disappeared as a floor spread before her. The air shifted before her, indicating that she had entered a larger expanse of room – a large cave? She could see nothing before her, only darkness. Somewhere far away, she heard the plop of something small falling into water. The light was nowhere to be found.

She sat on that last step, her breathing beginning to quicken again as panic rose solid in her throat. The pain in her ankle and forehead combined with her chilled self threatened to overtake the last bit of rational thought she still possessed.

Really, after the past year, after the doctors and tests and more doctors and treatments, _this_ was not the way she expected to die.

A bark of laughter chased her tears, pushing its way past the dust in her throat. "Really, Christine," she said aloud, "you have the worst luck."

A voice replied, rising out of the darkness behind her. The silky tenor slid past her ear, raising the hairs on her arms. " _Christine_."

She jerked her head around, seeing nothing in the dark. But she felt… something that wasn't there before. Not behind her, but _around_ her. A presence that pushed the air apart as though it needed the room. She hadn't heard footsteps, but she knew with certainty that she wasn't alone.

"Who's there?" She managed not to stutter but she could barely whisper the words.

" _Mon cher, je veux que tu partes… immédiatement!"_ The voice again spoken in her ear as though he was standing just behind her.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she pleaded.

" _Ah , vous êtes Anglais_." The voice switched, this time speaking perfect, slightly accented English. "You managed to injure yourself, Christine. Now how will you leave?" The voice was musing, no longer in her ear but spreading across the darkness in front of her. "You have to leave," it continued with a sudden steel edge.

She ran her tongue across her teeth to wet her mouth. "Please. Do you know the way out? I was trapped down here. The wall opened up, and I saw a light. My ankle… I don't think I can walk." The information jerked out of her. Was she making any sense? Was anyone even there?

A breeze caressed her face a moment before she heard the sound of hard shoes stepping before her. Something fluttered – a long coat? – about her head from where she sat on the step. She braced herself, for what, she wasn't sure, and a strong hand shot of the dark and clasped her elbow on her injured side. She gasped, but the hand guided her with firm pressure to pull her upright. The fingers, long and thin and clasping her bare elbow with unbridled strength, were gloved in supple leather.

Without a word, he tugged her forward. She stumbled but he held fast to her, supporting the weight she might have otherwise put on her left foot. No other part of him touched her even though she was sure now that a man was next to her, that this man had found her down here. He was swift and sure-footed in the total darkness.

They continued this slow progress for a while until she caught sight of a lantern hanging from the bow of a small boat. A boat? But yes, it sat there upon a wide expanse of black water.

"That was you!" she blurted, now understanding. In the dim glow of lamplight, she swung her head around to follow the sure fingers still attached to her elbow up a long line of black-clad arm and broad shoulder. The half of his face she could suddenly see shone back at her, stark white against the black. His eye, set deep within a half mask, stared down at her.

"Little fool. You have made a mess of my otherwise pleasant evening." He clipped the words at her.

Her eyes were wild. "Who- who are you?" She tried to jerk her arm away from him, but he held fast, looming over her.

"Get on the boat."

She brought her other hand up to shove at his gloved fingers. "Let go of me. I'm not going anywhere with you! Are you from the opera? Is that why you're wearing a mask? If this is a joke, I'm seriously pissed!" Her fingers couldn't pry off his grasp, which was strong as stone around her elbow. At one point, her fingers slipped across the edge of his glove, sliding across for one brief second the bare skin of his wrist.

He dropped her elbow then with a whooshing sound, turned away from her, and climbed into the boat in one fluid motion. The small boat barely moved in the inky water.

Had he _hissed_ at her?

Without even a backward glance, he picked up a long pole and used it to push the boat across the water, leaving her on the rocky shore. She quickly noticed the glow of the lantern starting to fade once again, realization washing over her that he was, in fact, _leaving_ and that in a few moments, she would once again be alone in the dark.

"Wait!" she called after him. She managed to hobble a few steps toward the water's edge before her ankle gave out in a flash of pain. The darkness spun around in her vision as a panicked scream lodged halfway up her throat. _Not this again_. She had only a moment to curse her fear of the dark before she realized she was too close to the water, her swollen ankle too weak to carry her weight as she tried to backpedal.

The shock of cold took away what little breath she had left as she plunged off the edge, the water swallowing her head in one swift swoop. Her feet sought purchase on the bottom and found none, the water too deep, the edge falling away straight down as though off a cliff. She scrambled to turn around, to find the rim of the shore, couldn't find it with numb, wild fingers.

 _Again, I die!_

Two hands surged under her arms, and she was jerked free of the water and into the wooden bottom of the boat. She landed in a heap at the masked man's feet as she sputtered and choked.

"Stay out of the lake!" he barked, as though she had fallen into the water on purpose.

"I'll remember that," she managed to reply between gasps. Somewhere inside her, she heard a little voice telling her that she'd best mind her tongue, but her cut forehead throbbed, her foot swelled inside her sodden sneaker, and now she was drenched.

He had already turned away from her to push the boat across the lake with the pole, sending them careening smoothly across the wide expanse of water that had stilled again. The vastness terrified her. How could all of this exist under the opera without anyone knowing? _Did_ anyone know?

She calmed somewhat now that she was once again bathed in the glow of the lantern, and, having little else to look at, studied the man. He was tall and swathed all in black from his long-tailed suit coat to the heavy cloak that hung about his broad shoulders to the wide-brimmed hat upon his head. He wasn't facing her, but she remembered the white shape of his half mask. She wished she could see the rest of his face.

His arms and the edges of his cloak were dripping wet. She shivered. Her t-shirt and jeans did little to ease her from the cold air, especially now that they were soaked. Where was he taking her? To another way out?

He said something, and she strained to hear. He was muttering, not to her, seeming to forget she was there. "That way was sealed. Shouldn't have swung open like that. Too close. Must inquire to the Daroga."

"E-excuse me?"

His head jerked around just enough for one glittering eye to glare down at her. "Stay out of the lake."

She swallowed back any reply she might have had. This man had twice saved her – once from the pitch black, once from this underground lake, but she was suddenly well aware of how trapped she now was. This boat moved silently through the water, carrying her further from the opera house, further from hope of getting out this anytime soon. She glanced over her shoulder to see the far shore disappear from view.

After a while, the boat thudded softly against rock, stirring her from her thoughts. They hadn't spoken again, and she had been lulled into a sleepy haze by the gentle movement of the boat and his arms back and forth as he pushed and pulled the pole to navigate them. As soon as they landed, the man stretched out one long leg to step onto a new bank. He offered a hand, gloved in soft black leather.

Her legs had grown stiff from sitting in one spot for too long, and now that she was trying to move, her ankle throbbed in warning. She needed to take a good look at it before her foot swelled too much to take off her shoe. She scooted over and took his hand, which was firm and unwavering, and maneuvered her way gingerly out of the boat.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He merely nodded, not letting go even after she was standing on the rocky surface of this new shore. As he stepped forward to lead her away from the boat, she tried to hobble after him but only made it a few steps before she put accidental weight on her ankle. She cried out in pain.

With a flash of movement surprisingly graceful for his height, he let go of her hand and swept her into his arms, one hand spread across her back and the other wrapped around the backs of her knees. She had no time to protest being pulled against his chest or retort at how indignant she was at being carried like a child. His body was cool, offering no warmth. His face was near hers, one side a smooth pane of strong jaw and high cheekbone, the other hidden behind the hard white half mask. His eyes were a pale yellow; the eye behind the mask seemed more hidden by shadow as though it was sunken.

He glanced at her, his mouth a taut line of annoyance. "Be still."

He carried her with ease across the way until they entered a large chamber lit with many flickering candelabra arranged throughout the room. It was richly furnished. A large piano stood to one corner; papers were strewn about the instrument, many of them covered in red ink. Besides the piano, a black divan was set nearby with a tall-backed armchair next to it. Shelves filled with books lined the far wall.

More rooms seem to lie beyond this one, but she didn't have time to ponder them just yet. He crossed over to set her down about the small couch.

She swallowed, finding her voice at last. "I-I thank you again for helping me. I think I should be going, though. It's late and people will wonder where I am…" She trailed off as the man knelt before her. His gloved hands pulled off her left shoe, which unstuck to her foot with a wet squelch. His quick fingers peeled off her sodden sock, and she had a quick flash of embarrassment over the state of her foot – she had been in these shoes all day, after all.

He seemed to take no notice, instead giving her ankle a thorough look, prodding a bit with his gloved fingertips. She sucked in a breath only partially because of the pain.

When he was satisfied, he nodded and stood to his full height. "Your ankle is not broken," his told her, "though anymore injury would surely result in needing a cast. I will wrap it for you in a splint to prevent further strain on the tendons. Come." Without asking permission, he picked her up again, carrying her further into the chambers.

Two smaller rooms were cut into the stone further back. A quick glance told her that one was a bathroom with a washbasin and large stone tub. The other, she saw as he strode in, was a bedroom with only a tall armoire to the side and a bed that filled the rest of the space. He set her upon the dark wine-colored bedspread, which was silky beneath her hands, and stepped back to stare down at her.

She began to babble as she grew more alarmed at her predicament. "I don't want to impose on you further. Perhaps it's best if I leave and see a doctor about my ankle. Not that I don't trust your judgment," she added hastily, "but I don't want to worry anyone when I don't show up for work tomorrow. It's already so late." She cut off when he left the room, only to appear a moment later with a crisp white shirt. One of his own, she realized.

His eyes bore down at her, daring her to say something. "The path you found I had thought long sealed, and I doubt I can get it open again. The next closest way back to the opera is too far for you to walk in your state and too treacherous for me to carry you. I suggest you stay here until your ankle heals." He thrust the shirt at her. "This will do for now until your things dry."

He… wanted her to change? Into his _shirt_?

All she could do was stare at him like a deer that has been spotted by a hunter's scope. In the brighter light of what she could only call a bedroom, she got her first full look at him. He stood tall before her, his height causing him to loom over her even if he didn't seem to be trying to be imposing at the moment. He still wore his cloak and hat, and he was dripping a bit on the rug that covered the stone floor here.

The shirt shook in her face, and she warily grasped it with shaking hands. "Thank you," she said, not knowing what else to say. "Please-" she cut herself off. Please what? Please don't hurt me? He hadn't yet. Please leave the room? It was his room – shouldn't she be the one to leave?

"May I take a bath?" The question came out before she could stifle it. Oh god, a _bath_?

His golden eyes grew wide, white showing around his irises. "Yes, of course." He offered her his hand once more, and she took it, hobbling across the short hallway to the bathroom with his assistance.

The bathroom was small but gorgeous, all dark cut stone, and the tub itself was massive, clearly built in a moment of indulgence. She draped his shirt across the small stool nearby and turned around. The man stood in the doorway, watching her every movement. She couldn't read the expression on his face, but he looked both stunned and still a bit angry, an emotion that seemed to always linger under the surface with him. Was he as caught off guard by her as she was by him? He certainly didn't seem to entertain much here. Her guess was that he rarely had visitors.

She cleared her throat, hoping he would take the hint, and he did, nodding at once. "I will find you something to eat," he said. "And then, it is best if you get some rest."

He had often spoken in these absolutes, as if he needed to maintain control over the situation, always knowing what was about to happen with her. The bath had thrown him for a loop, as though he hadn't considered the possibility before, but he had recovered quickly. She thought he was a man who missed little.

"Thank you," she said, and turned to the bath. The wooden door closed shut behind her.

As first, she feared she would have to take a cold bath, but when she turned the knob, blessedly hot water sprang forth. She ran it as hot as she thought she could stand. Once she started to undress, she caught a whiff of herself. She smelled of the daily stress of working backstage at the opera house, along with a hint of mustiness that could only have come from the lake.

She laid her clothes across the sink the best she could and climbed into the tub. A bar of some kind of soap lay nearby; the soft foamy lather smelled of pine needles and something smoky, like a fireplace.

She wondered if _he_ smelled like this.

Shaking her head, she adverted her thoughts elsewhere. This man was dangerous, of that she was certain. She could tell in the way he held himself, in the powerful grip of his hands, in the glint of his eyes. He wore a mask for god-knows what reason, to conceal his face from recognition or because he was horribly deformed underneath. He looked at her as though he was daring her to give him a reason to do her harm, and even though he had yet to hurt her in any way, she knew he easily could. And still might.

Here she was naked, sitting in his tub, about to put on his shirt. She had no idea who he was, no idea why he was living under the opera, didn't even know his name. Though the warm water was helping, her ankle still throbbed, reminding her of the fact that she couldn't run away.

She scrubbed her body quickly and drained the tub, wrapping herself in one of the gigantic towels she found nearby. She hesitated only a second before putting her bra and underwear back on. They might both still be damp, but she felt more dressed that way, less vulnerable. She squeezed the water out of her hair the best she could and left it in damp clumps about her shoulders, and then she held out his shirt to inspect. It was a simple white button-down shirt, iron crisp-sharp, and it smelled faintly of his soap. She put it on and buttoned it to the top button. The material fell to her knees – he was as tall as she thought – and she had to fold up the sleeves to her wrists.

Unsure what to do with them, she left her clothes draped over the tub. She steeled herself to leave the bathroom. She could do this. She needed answers, and she couldn't let him intimidate her. Yeah, right. She drew up her shoulders and opened the door.

He stood just on the other side, one hand poised to knock, the other carrying what looked like gauze. His single exposed eyebrow shot up, his fiery yellow eyes staring down at her.

She shut the door in his face.

The motion had been automatic, a quick convulse of her arm before she realized what she was doing. She let go of the door handle and sprang back onto her good foot as though afraid she would get burned. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. _Open it, you idiot._ Her motions jerky in panic, she grasped the handle again and flung the door open, half expecting him to have left.

He still stood there, this time his raised hand in a fist at his side. "Are you done?" he remarked coolly.

Her cheeks heated. "I'm sorry. I just – I was surprised. That was rude of me." She perceived that he slightly shifted his weight from one foot to another, his only sign of impatience. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"I will bandage your ankle," he said, walking into the bedroom. "The restricted movement will help it heal properly."

"All right." She hobbled the few feet to follow him, watching him have a seat in the small chair near the bed. He had removed his hat and cloak, and although his presence still filled the small space, he seemed less imposing without them. He no longer dripped everywhere, so she guessed he had taken the time to change. He wore a three-piece suit with a long coat and cravat. He still wore thin black gloves. His white mask was still affixed on the right side of his face, and his black hair was smoothed carefully back. He oozed a calmness that thinly covered tension underneath, as though he was always waiting for a reason to snap to action.

She hesitated a moment, then sat across from him on the edge of the bed. The shirt rode up her thighs, and she quickly tugged it back down, hoping he didn't notice.

"Give me your foot."

"Okay." She lifted it and realized she didn't know what to do with it; she couldn't very well just leave it hovering there in the air. Already, her muscles ached. She didn't know what time it was, but it had to be late, probably well past midnight.

Exhaustion made her careless: she set the heel of her foot upon his knee, the slight warmth of his body a shock to her senses.

She stared at him, her hands griping the silky bedspread, all of a sudden well aware that her raised leg also raised the hem of her shirt, _his_ shirt. He stared back, his own hands poised in midair. She wasn't sure what he had been about to do.

They were strangers. He was dangerous, of that she was sure. As she watched him, he broke into motion once again, ignoring her foot upon his knee as he began to peel off his black gloves. She was entranced; his fingers were long and elegant, pale in the flickering candlelight. Artist hands. His gloves he perched on his other thigh.

He began to prod carefully at her ankle with both hands, his fingertips cold. She shivered but she didn't mind the lack of warmth; it felt good on her swollen skin. He slowly rotated her foot, and she made a noise of pain when he bent it inward.

"As I thought," he murmured, relaxing her foot. "You likely chipped a piece of bone from your ankle when you rolled it. It will heal quickly if you let it." He flexed the gauze and began to wrap it around her ankle with practiced precision until it was tightly bound. "By morning, I will find you a crutch to use as you move about my chambers."

"Thank you."

He inclined his head, tying the end of the gauze. Then he simply held her foot in both hands, his thumbs against the skin of her shin. His eyes were trained on his own fingers as though wondering why he was still touching her; she wondered the same.

"You have other injuries?" he asked, one hand shifting above the other, cupping the beginning swell of her calf. His long fingers wrapped almost all the way around.

"N-no, I don't. Besides my- my forehead. It stopped bleeding." The words came out in a rushed whisper. He touched her with a softness that he hadn't at first, when he had first roughly grabbed her elbow in the darkness of the staircase.

She reached out a hand, slightly trembling, wanting to touch him back, to solidify herself in this moment. She was here, he was real, he was holding her leg as though he couldn't let go, and his touch burned with a cold fire across her skin. She didn't dare touch the mask that loomed like a forbidden thing, she didn't even know his name yet, but she wanted, needed, to touch his uncovered face.

That strong gaze of his remained focused downward, and so her fingers snuck upon him, stroking one light touch across his cheekbone.

Yellow eyes jerked to her at the same time he dropped her ankle. A sharp stinging pain hit her hand as he batted her away with a rapid snap of his wrist so fast that she didn't see it coming. The small wooden chair overturned as he shot to his feet.

"I'm sorry!" she said, holding both hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm so stupid, I'm sorry. You have been nothing but kind. I shouldn't have. I don't have a clue who you are. I don't even know your name."

He was breathing fast gulps of air, his chest heaving as though he had exerted himself, his gaze focused inward. "Nothing but kind," he echoed, his eyes rounding on her again. "I am _anything_ but _kind_ , my dear."

Her own heart thumped loudly, but she raised her chin. "You have been nothing but kind _to me_."

"Yet," he all but sneered. "You still have time to get to know me. As you are my first invited visitor down here in my chambers, who knows of what I am capable." Despite the harsh words, his voice had smoothed. His shoulders relaxed, his calm demeanor physically returning. He seemed to draw himself back together, to force his body back into a straight line.

Her touch had apparently caused him to panic – was it her or just her touch? Living down here as he did, alone in the dark, marooned on a precipice across the lake, maybe he had never been touched before. His first invited visitor, he had said.

She shifted on the bed. "Even so, I _am_ sorry. Can we start over? If I'm going to be staying here until I'm able to walk, then maybe we should introduce ourselves. I'm Christine." She hesitated a moment before giving her full name, but she was on the stage worker list for the opera. It would be easy enough for him to find out if he wanted. "Christine Daaé."

"Erik," he said.

Erik. The simple, normal name made him seem more real, less like a ghost lurking beneath the opera house. He didn't offer a last name, but this was a good first step.

His eyes raked over her in that way that seemed more intimate than just a look. That stare took in everything with sturdy measure. "Are you hungry? I don't often eat, so this is a topic of which you will need to let me know."

She shook her head. "Not right now. I'm beyond tired though. I-" She stopped as a sudden familiar pain streaked across her chest. She grasped the stiff white linen of the shirt she wore with both hands and held up one when he moved to come closer. "Give me a second. It'll pass." Oh god, that hurt, and now she was well aware that she had taken her last pain pill way too long ago.

Could she trust him to help her in this? He had helped her so far. Though he had acquiesced to waiting, he didn't seem like he would last long before coming to her aid anyway.

"Another injury?" he asked.

"An old one," she said, not willing to say more than that. She didn't want to see any pity in his eyes. "I take daily pain pills for it because it hasn't healed up yet. I have a few doses in my purse, but I left it in the lockers in the opera house." Along with her cell phone.

"I will fetch it. If your bag is left there, they are bound to grow suspicious as to your whereabouts." At once, he was in the doorframe, his full presence filling the space. "For now, you must rest."

She rubbed a bit at the lingering ache in her chest. "All right."

He left, and she didn't overlook the click of a bolt sliding into place. So he didn't trust her to roam about his home without him there. She guessed she couldn't blame him, especially if she truly was the first person he had willingly allowed down here.

Sleep sounded like a wonderful idea, and the heaviness of her limbs wiped all other worries aside for now. The soft sheets slipped smoothly over her bare legs, and the heavy comforter warmed her despite the frigid air of what she could only call a cavern. She caught a slight hint of pine and smoky embers and something that could only be masculine before she slipped quickly into sleep.

She was aware, sometime later, of being roused from sleep. A firm, cold hand lifted under her neck, a glass of water tipped to her lips, the liquid wetting her mouth before a familiar pill was pressed between her teeth.

"Here. Drink," he said, his voice low and rumbling in the dark.

She parted her lips for a fuller gulp of water and swallowed the pill.

He lowered her back to the pillow. "Sleep," he said, and she did.

* * *

 **Please read and review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Normally, in the morning, sunlight beamed in through windows and let her know it was time to get up. As Christine cracked her eyes open, she could see little in the faded glow of an almost burnt out candle.

Of course, because she was underground.

In a floor of memories, she remembered everything from the night before. The man named Erik who had found her in the dark and taken her to his home – lair? dungeon? – across the lake, tended to her wounds, and, despite the promise of violence that hovered about him, treated her with something akin to hospitality.

She felt his shirt sliding across her skin. He had even given her something of his own to wear after she had fallen into the lake.

Sitting up, she noticed the glass of water next to the bed, and her mustard yellow handbag hanging out on the nightstand as though it had always been there. She grabbed it and rifled through. Everything seemed still there, including her money, passport, keycard for her hotel, and pills.

She wondered if he had read the prescription on the bottles – two difference ones for pain – and decided of course he had. He had given her a Percocet last night; she had felt the tell-tale loopy pull of the drug.

She popped two mints, put on a little chapstick, and that's when she noticed her cell phone. While everything else in her purse was intact, the cell phone, however, was missing a battery.

 _Son of a –_

Her bare legs swung out of bed, meeting the chilly morning air. That is when she noticed the thick robe spread across the foot of the bed and, leaning against the wall near her, a stick with a short bar at the top, wrapped in fabric. A crutch.

Her anger about the cell phone quelled, but only a little. The robe felt warm around her, falling to her ankles, and gave her more security than just the button-down shirt, even though it was obviously his own. The embroidery on the black fabric reminded her of his cloak. She knotted it securely, tucked the crutch under her arm, and made her way to the door. She remembered him locking it before she fell asleep, but when she tried the handle, the door opened easily.

Erik sat in his large armchair, one foot upon the opposite knee, a teacup raised to his lips. A newspaper was spread across his lap. He looked more at ease than he had last night. She even saw the side of his exposed lips curl when he caught sight of her.

"You slept well?" he inquired, putting down his cup and thumbing to the next page in the paper. How… normal of him.

"I did," she said. "My medicine helped with that. Thank you so much for getting it for me. I'll take another this morning, and I can probably manage with ibuprofen after that. It… _is_ morning, isn't it?"

"About 8 o'clock." His head tilted to the side as though giving her a studious look. "Daily opioids. Addiction or necessity? They were prescribed in your name, but I do not make assumptions. If you are addicted, I need to know."

He was so matter-of-fact about it, without judgment. She had a feeling that he had seen worse than painkiller abuse, maybe had even experienced the draw of addiction himself.

She shook her head. "I have to take them, at least for now. Usually once a day is enough, but I must have strained myself yesterday."

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the divan. "I am afraid there is no milk for your tea, but I do have honey."

"That sounds lovely."

He set down his paper and cup and stood at once. When he handed her a freshly poured cup, she sipped her tea; it was hot and delicious in her parched mouth. Without asking her permission – but did he often ask permission for anything? – he bent to examine her ankle.

Maybe because it was morning, he had lit more candles about the room, and she got a better look at him as he knelt before her. Along the edges of his mask, she could see the beginnings of reddened, misshapen flesh. When he spoke, that side of his lips moved and twisted in a way that wasn't natural. He did indeed cover his face for a reason.

He hadn't replaced his gloves, and his long fingers were pale against her foot.

"The swelling in your ankle has diminished," he said. "Considerably so. Perhaps the damage will heal quicker than expected. In a week, perhaps." He frowned at that and returned to his chair, his posture radiating a sudden tension.

"That's great news," she said. She pressed on, not caring that he was angry about something. "But I need to contact my mother. I usually talk to her every day, so she's probably wondering why I didn't call her after the show yesterday." Her cell phone was lighter in her palm than it should be. "I'd like my battery back, please."

He glared at her. What had she done wrong now? "I cannot have people snooping about my labyrinth, which is what would surely happen were you to tell anyone about this place." She tried to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her. "I have traps spread throughout, especially in the paths leading back to the opera's lowest levels. You are lucky enough to have stumbled across a staircase I had previously disabled, thinking it permanently closed. Otherwise…" he shrugged, a slight lifting and falling of his broad shoulders.

She swallowed a gulp of tea past the lump forming in her throat. "All I want to do is let her know I'm safe. If it's 8 o'clock in the morning here, then it's about 2 a.m. there. I know she was going out last night, so she should just be going home. That's all I want to say to her, I promise."

"How do you even know you would have signal this far underground?" He picked up his newspaper again as though he was about to continue reading. His voice was glib, his eyes glittering.

"You can let me try!"

"My dear-"

" _Let me try!"_ Her sudden cry echoed about the chamber. She gulped down deep breaths, trying to force the air into her lungs and steady her rapidly beating heart. She was at once highly aware of her predicament, wearing this man's shirt and robe, dependent upon him for food and water, trapped beyond the lake and god-knows what kind of traps he had set. She clenched the useless shell of her phone.

What kind of man _was_ he?

Her panic attack consumed her in its familiar, deadly grip. She had gotten them ever since her diagnosis and they hadn't diminished even in the years afterward. She struggled to suck in enough air, feeling light-headed, the room starting to spin. Her chest ached, reminding her that she had yet to take any medicine this morning. A high-pitched humming began in her ears.

Her fingers sought to grab something to steady her, and they blindly found the lapels of his shirt. Erik had moved to sit beside her on the divan. His hands came up to cup her shoulders. When she tried to shrug him off, he instead captured her face, his long fingers cool against her inflamed cheeks.

"Look at me, Christine."

His voice was light but commanding, and she found herself doing as he asked. His golden eyes were steady.

"Breathe."

Despite her better judgment, she liked the way her name sounded on his lips. In the haze of her dizziness, she stared at his mouth as he said again, "Breathe, Christine."

Oh, the softness of her first syllable combined with the crispness of the second. He made her name sound like music.

Gradually, so slowly, she regained the ability to draw breath in a steady stream. The roaring in her ears faded, her vision clearing. She became aware that he was stroking her temples with his thumbs, a measured, careful circle of skin against skin. The cool touch felt heavenly.

"I need to call my mama," she whispered. "Please."

He sighed. His fingers left her face and pressed her teacup into her palm. "Finish your tea."

She did as he requested, strength slowly returning to her body. When she finished, he replaced the cup with the heavier weight of her battery.

"Two minutes," he said. "Tell her you are safe. Say nothing of where you are."

"T-thank you." Trembling, she put the battery back into her cell phone and booted it up. Within moments, she was dialing her mom's home number. It rang twice before relief washed over her as her mother's familiar cheerful voice answered.

" _Hello?"_

Christine cleared her throat. "Hey, Mama!"

" _Christine! There you are, hon. I wondered where you'd gone."_ Her mom's voice had the overly cheerful edge of two drinks too many.

"I'm okay," Christine said, glancing at Erik. The man had stayed sitting next to her, no doubt able to hear both sides of the conversation. "I finished my last day at the opera yesterday. I was so tired I just passed right out."

" _You doing good? Eating enough?"_

Her stomach rumbled in answer. She hadn't eaten anything since a quick bite from a vending machine after the show yesterday. "I'm good, Mama. I'm going to spend the next few days touring the city. I thought I might check out the Louvre and Notre Dame." All of that had been her original plan, before.

She could practically hear her mother shaking her head. " _You be safe, Chrissy. Watch your purse. I can't wait to see you again. A week from today!"_

"Yeah, Mama. A week." Christine felt sick.

" _I've got your flight itinerary all printed out and ready to go. I'm so happy you'll have some time before school starts back. My list keeps growing."_

Her mom kept a to-do list for everything, including a permanent one on her fridge of everything her and Christine would do together on Christine's school breaks. Christine went to Boston University, and the two hour drive from there to her mom in her hometown in Connecticut was enough to keep them apart.

"That sounds fantastic," Christine said.

She could sense her time was up; she desperately wanted to tell her mother the truth, that she was hurt and unable – for various reasons – to travel like she'd planned. But she kept her mouth shut. With all this talk of travel, she had suddenly become aware of the chilling fact that Erik had likely seen her passport. That meant he knew her home address. She had luckily changed it from her mom's address when she decided to move away permanently, but she doubted Erik would have difficulty tracking down her previous address. She didn't want to endanger her mother in any way.

" _All right, hon, well, you take care. I've gotta get in bed. Clients want to see houses tomorrow. Love you, Chrissie!"_

"Love you, too, Mama."

Christine ended the phone call and didn't protest when Erik took the phone from her. She knew she wasn't likely to get another chance to call, not anytime soon. She hadn't noticed any electricity down here, so the battery would die within the day anyway.

"Thanks, Erik," she told the man still sitting next to her on the divan. "I feel better after talking to her."

"You are welcome," he said, rising. "Now, lest I make you a liar to your own mother, there is breakfast in my small excuse for a kitchen. Bread and cheese will have to do for now."

She didn't tell him that he had already made her a liar. She knew she wouldn't be traveling anytime soon. But lying to her mother didn't make her feel as bad as she thought it might. Deep down, she knew she was lying to keep her mom safe.

"Thanks. I'm definitely famished."

Sure enough, there was a platter of bread, crusty but fresh, and a variety of cheeses laid out on a small platter. She sat down to start eating, and she noticed Erik attaching his cloak to his throat.

"I have to leave for a while," he told her, placing his wide-brimmed hat upon his head. As he pulled on his gloves with practiced ease, he looked every bit the imposing figure she had first met. "You may explore any chambers unlocked to you as freely as you wish. You are my guest, not my prisoner, Christine."

"I'll do that," she said, between mouthfuls of bread.

She prided herself on the fact that she hadn't snorted at his last comment. Did he think she was really that naïve? If she asked to leave right now, if her ankle healed by tomorrow, she highly doubted he would be willing to let her leave so early. She quickly pushed down the wondering thought of whether or not he would let her leave after the full week.

"Breakfast is rather meager, but I will return in the later afternoon with better fare for you to eat."

She didn't argue. He was leaving? For hours? She relished the thought of having some time to herself, and especially having time to check out his unusual residence without him hovering over her.

"I recommend you rest that injury of yours, Christine. Use the crutch, when you must."

"I will," she promised.

He bowed his head at her, tipping his hat. And then he was gone, fading into the darkness. He didn't take the boat, so he must have another way of accessing this place.

She glanced around, feeling the silence settle around her. He had left plenty of candles lit, so the shadows beyond the light didn't seem quite so oppressive. _Time to snoop_ , she thought.

She started with her bedroom, but there really wasn't anything of interest in there. Besides her dirty clothes from yesterday, folded and laying in the bottom, the armoire was empty. The nightstand held candles and her purse and nothing else. The rest of the room contained her bed, a rug, and a small wooden chair.

A search of the bathroom revealed nothing new either.

Beyond both of those rooms, she found a door, but a tentative test of the handle revealed that it was locked. Erik's own bedroom, then?

The small kitchen was nearly empty as well, containing mostly bottles of red wine and brandy, with little to eat. He wasn't kidding when he said he rarely ate. He was such an odd man, so different from anyone she had ever met before. His mannerisms could be so formal, so gentile, and yet he had an aura of threat about him that both terrified and thrilled her.

Christine went back to the living area and explored the bookshelves. She found a plethora of different kinds of books: a small amount of fiction, mostly classics or poetry, and a large amount of nonfiction on a variety of topics. She didn't spend too much time looking over the titles before she selected a book on Shakespeare; at least she could start with something with which she was familiar.

She read for quite a while until her eyes began to droop. She replaced the book, headed to the bedroom, and stretched out on the bed. After a little thought, she took a Percocet and let the drug pull her under.

How long she slept, she wasn't sure, but when she woke up, she felt much more refreshed than earlier. After a little more cheese and bread, and a big glass of water from the tap, she felt ready to explore the large instrument in the living room.

At some point, Erik had cleaned up the mess of papers that had been strewn about the piano. They lay in several piles, and while she didn't dare touch them, she did take a close look at the top sheets. As she had supposed, they were music compositions, all written in red ink. Christine could read music – she'd taken orchestra in high school to learn the violin like her father, and her mother had let her take piano lessons. But Erik's compositions were too difficult for her to try playing. Some of it was smooth and carefully written, while other portions were hard to decipher and scratched in jagged lines as though his pen couldn't keep pace with his mind.

She looked more closely at the piano. It was unlike any other piano she had seen; large in size, it reminded her more of a pipe organ at a church. With one finger, she tentatively pressed one key – the sound pinged, sending a shiver up her spine. What a lovely sound, unlike anything she had heard before.

She spread her fingers into a chord and hit the keys with one resounding blast of notes. This instrument was perfectly tuned, and somehow, Erik had made the acoustics acceptable in this cavern, at least from where she stood next to the piano.

Feeling bolder, she scooted onto the small bench and placed both hands upon the keys. The ivories were clean and free of dust, obviously an instrument that Erik loved. She spread her fingers, thought for a moment, and began to play. Beethoven drifted out of the piano, a bit eerier than even _Fur Elise_ normally sounded. She stopped mid-bar, caught a new melody in her head, and began to play again. This time, the upbeat Mozart combined with the piano's somber notes made her laugh out loud.

Her laughter caught in the large chamber and flew out in all directions, much like a stage reverberated sound. That took her aback because she wouldn't have expected her unused voice to sound that good.

She considered for a moment, then, deciding, she started to play an old church hymn. Her father had taken her to mass when she was little, but when he died, she and her mother had stopped going altogether. Christine still remembered the songs, though; it was always the music that stuck with her the most.

She played half the song, humming along, before stopping to think. Overall, she preferred more modern songs, and her tongue rubbed the roof of her mouth as she considered actually singing something.

Then, she caught a different melody in her head, and began to play Demi Lovato's "Skyscraper." Her voice rose up, a little shaky at first. She didn't often sing, for a variety of reasons, but she gave it a try anyway.

 _"Skies are crying, I am watching  
Catching tear drops in my hands  
Only silence as it's ending  
Like we never had a chance  
Do you have to make me feel like  
There's nothing left of me?"_

Feeling bolder, she raised her head, opened her mouth wider, and took in a deeper breath.

 _"You can take everything I have  
You can break everything I am  
Like I'm made of glass  
Like I'm made of paper  
Go on and try to tear me down  
I will be rising from the ground  
Like a skyscraper  
Like a skyscraper."_

Oh, she was in the moment. It had been years since she had sung like this, but the past 24 hours caught up with her and fueled her rusty voice.

 _"As the smoke clears, I awaken  
And untangle you from me-"_

And that's when she saw him, Erik, standing at the edge of the large chamber, wearing his cloak and hat as though he had just returned. She managed to cut off a scream caused by his abrupt presence. Both of his eyes were wide, glowing in the dimmer light beyond the living room. His lips were slightly parted, his gloved hands hung limply at his sides, and his shoulders were a rigid line under his heavy cloak.

"You sing," he said, almost too softly for her to hear.

She scooted to the edge of the bench and grabbed her crutch. Adrenaline flooded her veins, making her movements shaky. She had been caught messing with something that was obviously dear to him – and worse yet, he had heard her belting out the mess that was her singing.

"I'm so sorry," she said. Did she ever stop apologizing to him? "I was curious to see what your piano sounded like and got carried away. I-I didn't touch any of your music."

He swept off both his hat and cloak in quick, smooth motions, his eyes never leaving hers. "Stay there," he ordered. He pulled off his gloves, his hands flashing white in the candlelight as he held them up in a placating gesture, like he was afraid of startling a cat. "Do that again."

Her heart pounded against her chest. As he grew closer, she feared he would hear it. She settled back onto the bench. "You mean sing the song?"

"Yes. Sing the chorus again, but leave out the piano." Now that he stood before her, she could see both of his eyes clearly. They were still wide, and both shone with a fierceness unrelated to anger that she hadn't seen before.

She swallowed. What would he do if she refused? She didn't sing for _anyone_. "I can't. I never sing anymore. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't thinking." He fisted a hand over his chest. "This drove your voice in a way I have not heard in ages. Sing for me again, Christine, that song, one more time."

His voice was still so soft. He seemed to be pleading with her with his whole body, his voice trying to convince, his posture curled inward, his arms folded against himself, his eyes all but glowing. She normally hated to sing for anyone, this she knew, but she felt the knot loosen in her throat.

"A-all right."

She faced the piano once again and tapped the key for the right note to start. " _You can take everything I have, you can break-"_

"No!" he cut her off. "Sing the way you did before you realized I was here."

She laughed softly despite his utter seriousness. "I told you, I can't. I don't sing in front of people anymore."

"Try."

Okay, she would try with the hope that he would give up. She sang those two lines again, but once again, he interrupted her, and she puffed a breath of exasperation. "Please let me stop. I'm just embarrassing myself."

He offered her a gloved hand, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. The edge of the piano gave her enough support to take the weight off her ankle. "Let me try something, my dear. If this does not work, we can stop _for now_."

She nodded, wary. She was already done with this, and emotions she had long since buried were making her chest tighten. Erik left her side for a moment and returned with a length of black silk. A necktie, perhaps?

He stepped behind her, drawing the silk to the front of her body and raising it to her face. "May I?"

She nodded again and tried not to tremble as he fastened the necktie around her eyes, tossing her into darkness. As his hands left the back of the blindfold, his fingers ghosted down her hair and traced the shape of her shoulders. His touch was so light she might have imagined it, but his body was a startlingly warm presence behind her.

"You can take the blindfold off at any moment," he said softly, his breath tickling her neck. "When you take a breath to sing, I want you to use your entire diaphragm." One of his hands, balled into a fist, pressed against the bottom of her ribcage for a brief moment before traveling up, without touching her, to her chin. He lifted her chin with one cool finger. "Open your mouth wide, Christine."

He left his place behind her, and she couldn't hear anything for a moment. Then, notes began to trickle out of the piano, slowly at first, then becoming more sure until she recognized that he was improvising the melody of her song. He swept across the keys, drawing the tune outward like an artist drew a sketch. The music washed over her, and he didn't seem to mind giving her time, pounding the music with greater gusto.

Christine thought about this man who stayed in a home hidden from the world. She thought about her father who had died and taken his music with him. She thought about her mother who had dealt with her husband's death by shutting away everything he had once loved. And finally, Christine thought about her battle with cancer over the past two years.

She held onto those thoughts and didn't let them go, finding her voice.

She opened her mouth and began to sing yet again. This time, he didn't interrupt her.

When she finally finished singing the song, she pulled off the blindfold and turned with some trepidation to look at Erik. The delight on his half-hidden face was palpable. Her cheeks felt hot, but inwardly, she soaked up his silent praise after so long without anyone caring to hear her sing.

He beckoned her to follow him as he fetched two bags he had left by the entrance. She was grateful that he wasn't talking about what had just happened, at least not yet, giving her time to calm herself down. In the kitchen, she watched as he unpacked groceries – some vegetables, fresh fruit, and chicken that she assumed he meant to cook tonight.

"Usually I can easily take food from the opera house's wares," he said, setting out a knife and cutting board. "However, Sundays are the only day of the week the place is silent."

He began to chop, using a large kitchen knife with exact precision. The scene seemed downright normal, his mask a stark white intrusion on his otherwise domestic actions.

"What can I do to help?" she asked, and he motioned to a bag of potatoes she could wash and quarter for the meal.

For a while, they worked in silence though she was aware that his eyes kept flickering to her. She tried to ignore the attention and kept her own gaze pointedly away from him. They placed the chicken in a large pan, surrounded the bird with potatoes, carrots, and long green beans. Erik poured a lemon butter sauce on top, covered the pot, and set it upon the single burner to simmer.

"Come," he said.

As she sat on the divan, he procured two wine glasses and filled them each with a dark red. He handed her what amounted to about half a glass full, no doubt because of the strong painkiller she was taking, and settled into the large armchair opposite her.

He took a sip, having to angle the glass a bit to the side to avoid his mask. She realized she had never seen him eat or drink, and she wondered if that was because of his mask. Could he eat while wearing it?

The wine was warm and tingled as she swallowed. She hadn't had a satisfying glass of wine in a while, and she relished the slightly sweet taste. Now that she had stopped moving about the kitchen, she noticed how much her ankle throbbed. Maybe she should have rested more today instead of wandering about his home as much as she had.

As though he noticed her discomfort – and really, as much as he watched her, no doubt he had – Erik set his glass aside and slid to one knee before her.

"Let me take a look," he murmured.

This time, she didn't hesitate, setting her foot upon his knee. The robe fell open about her legs, but she knew she was still decently covered up by the heavy, draping fabric. He unwrapped her ankle with careful precision and began to prod with his cold fingertips. His natural chill didn't shock her anymore. She had been close enough to him to feel his warmth, to know his body, at least, was a warm as anyone else's. Maybe, she thought, his chilly hands were a result of living below the basement for so long.

The sides of her ankle were swollen, and she knew she had overused it. Erik held her foot with both hands, seemed to hesitate, then began to press into the pockets of fluid in slow, easing circles. He was… massaging her foot? The pressure hurt, but she could see what he was trying to do.

After a while, he spoke, continuing to compress and knead her swollen ankle with cautious strokes. "Your singing moved me, Christine. You have a background in music."

Not a question, but she nodded anyway. "My father, Charles Daaé, was a violinist. Music was his greatest passion, and I guess some of that rubbed off on me. He used to travel around the world and play wherever he could get an invitation."

She paused, unsure how much she wanted to reveal. She hadn't spoken of her father in so long, but the memories kept coming. "I loved to listen to him play. He had such a way with music, like he played with his soul on the strings. That probably sounds silly to say."

"No, continue," he said softly, still massaging.

If her words kept him doing that, she would do so, happily. "I remember watching him in concert in Chicago. It was a small crowd, a few hundred, but they were fascinated, hanging onto every note he played. He taught me to love and respect music, all kinds of music."

She flipped her hair off her neck, a little flustered at telling what came next. "When he died in a car crash, on his way to play, I was eight. I didn't understand why my mother shut away everything of his. It wasn't the music that killed him – it was the truck that ran the stoplight. But she had his violin buried with him, and she gave away everything else he had collected before I could keep any of it for myself. I think I ran off with an armful of his clothes – how silly is that?"

She paused, looking down at the man before her. "I see some of my father in you and the way you played the piano. He used to encourage me to sing like you did, but when he died, my mother refused to let music back into the house. She cut off my voice lessons, and she wouldn't let me go into vocal performance in college. Playing instruments at school was the best I could do for a long time."

A little rueful laugh bubbled up. "I had to choose a degree in stage management just to be able to stay around what I love so much. I did sneak singing in here and there when I thought I could get away with it, but as you can tell, I'm very rusty."

"Yes," he said. "But the desire is still there, and that is harder to kill." He stilled his fingers and rewrapped her ankle, stealing back to his chair to sip at his wine.

"Thank you for the massage." She wiggled her foot a little. "It's already feeling better."

"We will do that nightly, and after a few more days, you should be able to walk out of here." He gestured with his empty hand at the chamber, the movement choppy and filled with a quick tension. "Christine, I would like to give you singing lessons."

Her eyes widened. "Oh? I-I don't think I'm that good."

"Really, my dear, you are not that blind. You know the potential you have, you can hear it for yourself. If you had the opportunity, would you want to sing on stage?"

If she had the opportunity? Her mother had been so pissed at the mere suggestion that Christine wanted to perform in any way, singing or playing an instrument or even just acting. _The stage doesn't pay bills, the stage gives you nothing back! The stage will never love you as much as you love it._

She took a large gulp of wine, enjoying the warm that spread through her. "I don't know," she answered honestly.

They didn't talk much after that. Even though he had set no timer, Erik knew when the food was ready and had her sit at the table while he prepared her a plate. She managed to eat most of it – really, it was all delicious, for a man who didn't even taste it – as he watched her and swirled his wine within his glass. She was unnerved by all this newfound attention because of her singing.

When she was done, she wiped her mouth and thanked him profusely. She already felt better with some real food in her stomach. Erik cleaned up after dinner, refusing to let her help, and shooed her away for the night. She was grateful and told him so, her belly full of warm food and wine.

She took a long bath, and while she was soaking, she heard the masked man begin to play on the strange piano. She didn't recognize the tune and guessed it was one he had written; the song was mournful, the notes long and deep. Every once in a while, he would stop – to take notes? to change something on paper? – and then begin again, the song slightly different.

She got out of the bath, dried off, and slipped on the clean shirt he had given her. He had changed songs, this one a furious pounding upon the keys that made her quickly slip into her room and close the door. He didn't come to lock her in, and she wondered if he would tonight. Her singing seemed to have both energized and bothered him, as though she had stimulated an itch that he couldn't scratch.

She knew this: she wanted to find out more about this masked stranger. She decided to make that her goal tomorrow.

The song shifted once again into a slow, low melody, and it lulled her to sleep at once.

* * *

Christine awoke sometime in the night. Her head was groggy, and she could tell from her heavy limbs that only a few hours had passed.

The music had ceased, and she heard Erik's low tenor speaking near her bedroom. "I am hardly holding her hostage, Daroga." He bit out the words, his fury obvious.

Another voice answered, this one deeper and thick with a Middle Eastern accent. She couldn't understand what the other man replied, but Erik all but growled back. "What would you have me do, you meddling old man? Carry her upon my back past the torture chamber? Over the dozen traps between here and the second passage?"

A retort from the other man that she couldn't understand.

Erik's voice was wild. "I haven't touched her!"

More murmuring, this time placating.

"Of course you would suspect me, the monster that I am!"

The other man went on for a while. Christine strained to hear Erik's replies; he had moved further away from her door. The two spoke back and forth, their voices low.

Erik spoke louder this time, and she heard his footsteps move back toward her. "Yes, well, that would make her more comfortable." He paused outside her door, then opened it slightly, throwing candle glow across the foot of her bed.

Christine kept her eyes closed, tried to keep her breathing slow and even. She didn't want him to suspect she had been listening this whole time. She heard Erik stride to stand before her, and a slight rustling told her that he was looking through her purse.

When he had found what he wanted, he paused. She could feel his gaze roam over her.

"I am going to fetch your clothing, Christine."

Her eyes flew open, but he was already gone, closing the door behind him, tossing her back into darkness.

Her clothes? What had he just grabbed? She couldn't see in the dark to check, but if he was talking about her own clothes, then had he taken her hotel keycard?

She laid there for the longest time. The two men – who was this Daroga, anyway? – spoke for a while longer until the visitor faded away as he left. Erik's home was silent, and Christine eventually drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

 **Enter the Daroga! I love Nadir, especially as Erik's foil, and I hope you think I treat him well in this fic. Now we've got singing and more about Christine's medical condition, which is a huge plot point. I'm eager to know what you think about the direction this is going. Please review.** **:)**


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is a long one and by far one of my favorite to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Christine woke to a brighter room. At some point, Erik had lit more candles in the bedroom, showing her that it was morning. She was disturbed by the obvious truth that he came into her room while she was sleeping, but she did appreciate the sign that it was time to get up. Without sunshine, her internal clock was threatening to get confused.

The second thing she noticed was that her suitcase was sitting next to the bed. She bolted upright – it _was_ her keycard that he had taken from her purse, and with it, he had gone to her hotel room. Oh god, what had he seen?

She quickly unzipped her suitcase and spread it open. Inside, she found all of her clothes carefully folded. She definitely hadn't left them inside her suitcase. She had been living at the hotel for several months and had made use of the closet and drawers. But here was everything, including her toiletries. Seeing her toothbrush especially made her happy; Erik hadn't a spare.

She felt a blush rise when she spied her underwear tucked into a zippered pocket. Of course, he had grabbed those too. She was grateful that she had only one bra – the one she wore – so he hadn't seen _that_. Her pile of dirty laundry, which she had left in a hamper in the closet, was now clean and folded with the rest of her clothing.

Nothing seemed to be missing. He had even taken all of her shoes, including her house slippers.

Her slippers felt so good on her feet, a touch of familiarity she'd missed. She put on her own robe, the smell of her soap and shampoo wafting up to her. The sense of missing Erik's scent she pushed aside. All of this made her feel more normal, more herself.

However, seeing her suitcase and all of her clothing in this room did give her a chill. Her situation was not normal, not at all, and now he had officially moved in all of her belongings. Seeing all of her stuff, brushing her teeth with _her_ toothbrush and her hair with _her_ hairbrush brought everything to crystal clear reality. What the crap was she doing here?

She found Erik in the same spot he had been yesterday morning, sitting in his black high-backed armchair. His tea and newspaper were both in front of him, seemingly untouched. His elbows rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, deep in thought.

He didn't move as she approached slowly on her crutch.

"Good morning," she said, keeping her voice soft.

He seemed tense, an untamed man ready to strike if he needed to for any reason. His hands, dangling between his legs, trembled. His shoulders were slightly hunched, fraught with tension.

He didn't look up as she stood in front of him. Had he slept at all? Had he even changed his clothes? His suit was rumpled with what seemed long-term use.

She cleared her throat. "Thank you so much for getting my things. You went through a lot of trouble for me."

"No trouble," he replied, still not looking up. "I should have earlier. Daroga – Nadir reminded me."

"Nadir? Was that the man here last night? Is he a friend of yours?"

"No, no _friend_. I have no friends. He is more a nuisance who refuses to go away."

Erik's words were harsh but carried no viciousness to them. She suspected he cared more for this Nadir's opinion than he wanted to admit.

Erik continued, "I apologize for waking you. How much did you hear?"

"Not much," she said lightly.

Erik raised his head, his eyes meeting hers. Those glowing depths were shadowed by some emotion she couldn't figure out. His fingers grasped the black fabric that clung to his thighs as though he was afraid they would do something else. "He accused me… well, what does that matter? I _haven't_ touched you, much. I have kept my hands to myself!"

"Yes, you have." She moved the tip of her crutch one step closer and swayed her body to fill the space. Her mind screamed at her, _what are you doing, Christine?_ Erik was obviously on edge, holding himself together, from doing _something_ , with barely-contained strength.

Her hand moved of its own accord. He hadn't reacted well last time she had tried to touch him, but all of the other times, all of her touches, had taken him by surprise. This time, his eyes followed her movement. When her fingers were a breath away from his bare cheek, his hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist, not painfully, but enough that she could feel his iron grip. He didn't push her away.

"Christine." His tone warned of violence.

She didn't care. She wanted to touch him, had wanted to since that first time she had dared. So many mysteries loomed between them, but she wanted to take this one thing from him.

"Let me," she said.

His eyes widened. He seemed like a cornered beast that might bite if she came closer, if she pushed too hard. "My mask," he choked out.

"I won't touch it. I wouldn't do that." She knew she wouldn't. Even though her curiosity burned, she could never betray his trust that way. She knew what it meant to cover up a secret.

Her hand flexed, testing his hold. He didn't let go, but she felt the pressure ease as he allowed her to move her hand closer. Finally, she pressed her palm against his exposed cheek.

He gasped, his sudden breath fanning her face.

She didn't stop. His skin was soft beneath her hand with no hint of stubble. She traced down to his jaw, his hand on her wrist following the descent, such a strong line ending in a hard curve of chin. Her hand cupped his jaw, her thumb running along the side of his mouth, his lips a yielding smoothness under her nail.

Beneath her thumb, his lips parted in a soft pop of shock.

Dear god, had this man never been touched before?

She gave a gentle smile, intending to take her hand away, but he held her hand against his cheek once more, both of his hands coming up to enfold hers and press her more firmly to him.

"Christine," he said again. He turned his face and, the motion so light she barely felt it, touched his lips to her palm.

The kiss sent shivers up her spine. Her mind sent off warning bells, but she wasn't listening, instead focused on the feeling of his lips still against her, this time on the tender skin of her wrist, his long fingers encircling her arm with gentle precision.

She swallowed thickly. If he decided to keep going, she wasn't sure what she would do. That alone made her heart race. "E-Erik," she managed to say, "can I sing today? Will you teach me?"

He broke away, his eyes sparkling. The tension seemed gone from his shoulders. _She_ had done that to him, helped ease his troubled thoughts. When he let go of her hand, she immediately missed his touch. This man was a drug to her – the more she had him, the more she wanted from him.

"Of course I will teach you, my dear."

She tried to ignore the weakness in her legs at the pleasure in his voice.

"Would you like breakfast first?"

She shook her head. "Later. I'm nervous enough without food turning my stomach."

They went to the piano together. He sat upon the bench and began to play while she watched his fingers dance about the keys. He really was a beautiful player, his fingers long and slender and perfect for such an instrument.

She didn't recognize the song at first, but as she listened, she picked out the melody of Tchaikovsky's _Nutcracker_. Erik had taken the familiar tune of "The Sugar-Plum Fairy" and shifted it into something slower, darker, a low, draw-out version that raised the hair on her arms.

He paused, looking up at her. "You know the basics of vocal warm-ups, yes?"

She nodded. "I've had some training."

"A triad, then, please." He tapped a key, and she began, singing first on that note, and then steadily singing up three notes before returning to the start. They repeated this for about ten minutes as he patiently corrected her stance and posture. Then he began more complicated ranges of notes, and she managed to follow along without issue.

They continued on for what seemed like a long time. She would sing bits of notes for him while he adjusted and corrected as she went. She got the feeling that he was testing her out, seeing what she knew musically, what her range was, how she took to criticism. She had no doubt that he could be a tough instructor and that he was probably holding himself back, not wanting to scare her off.

"Now," he said, "what kind of music do you take satisfaction in singing? A lack of enjoyment will show in your voice."

She thought for a moment. "My father played all kinds of music, and so I learned to enjoy many different kinds. I admit to liking pop ballads – the lyrics are interesting and the songs are fun to sing."

"And yet you interned at an opera house." His voice was musing. Was he teasing her?

"I didn't know much about opera and wanted to learn. I admit that I've yet to hear an opera that actually moves me emotionally."

"Ah." He played a few bars of music, the song lovely. "You have yet to meet the right one."

She laughed, and the exposed side of his mouth curved upward, the first bit of smile she had seen from him. "I suppose you're right. I have to say I'm a tough audience, though."

"We shall see. Tell me a song you would like to sing. I will learn it, and we shall practice tomorrow."

"That sounds lovely, but I'll have to think about it." She gestured at herself. "Maybe I should go change now that I have clothes! And have breakfast."

"Closer to midday, now." He held out a hand to her, and she stepped nearer, slipping her own into his. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, the gesture warming something inside her. Oh, he was growing bolder. And she didn't mind – not at all.

"I must leave for the afternoon," he said, still holding her hand. "I apologize for leaving yet again, but business calls me away. I suspect I should be back for dinner, so I will bring you something from the upstairs kitchen."

"Thank you, Erik." She wondered what kind of business he could possibly have. Some kind of job that required he venture aboveground?

He bowed over her hand, such a gentlemanly and formal thing to do, and left her alone.

The rest of the day to herself? She supposed she would spend more time reading. There wasn't much else to do besides playing on the piano.

After changing into a pair of comfortable jeans and a nicer blouse, Christine sampled from the platter of food Erik had left out for her: fruit, cheese, and a few small pastries that delighted her. He really had taken her into consideration when getting food yesterday. She smiled at the thought.

She made tea, took a dose of ibuprofen, and spent the next several hours reading portions of various books in Erik's small library. The texts varied wildly, from medical journals with explicit dissections of body parts, to architectural books she could barely understand, full of jargon. She found many history books, including some on the Palais Garnier itself, and several on the history of opera.

Soon, her stomach began to rumble, so she headed back to the kitchen to grab an apple.

She had just taken a bite when she heard a splash at the lake's edge. She froze in the kitchen, slowly setting down the apple. Was Erik back already? But he hadn't taken the boat, and she highly doubted he would make such a fuss about the water. Was it an animal? She hadn't seen anything yet, not even bats or spiders. Erik kept this place clean and free of pests.

Another stirring in the water, this time followed by the grumbling of a man's deep voice. Definitely not Erik's familiar tenor.

Trying not to panic, she glanced around the kitchen and grabbed a large carving knife. She carefully maneuvered her way to the edge of the door frame that led into the living space as silently as she could. Whoever the man was had made it inside Erik's home, stomping his way up the stairs, not even trying to be quiet.

"If I get water on his carpet, I won't hear the end of it," the man muttered to himself. "Hello? Are you here?"

Christine stepped into the door frame, holding the knife in front of her. An older man stood on the outskirts of Erik's home, his black hair and beard flecked with gray. He was dressed in a brown suit that fit well over his rounder form. His feet were wet, which was obvious from the loud squelching sounds they made.

He seemed relieved to see her, and though his eyes swept over her knife, he didn't appear bothered by it. "I apologize for startling you, Miss Daaé. I appear unable to get here without some type of incident." He gestured at his sodden feet, and then peered around the room. " _He_ is still gone, isn't he?"

She responded by narrowing her eyes and brandishing the knife.

"Ah." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I assure you I'm not here to hurt you. The opposite, in fact. My name is Nadir Khan. I have known Erik for quite a long time, you see."

She didn't lower the knife, but his voice was so familiar. "You're the man from last night. The… Daroga."

"Erik likes to still call me that, but the name has little meaning now. I'm far removed from my home country and certainly not the chief of police there anymore." The man sat down and removed his boots with a grunt. He peeled off his socks and began to wring out the water.

She came a little closer. "Why are you here?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her. He seemed nice enough, his round face lively and his eyes kind. "I had hoped to catch you alone. I wanted to see if you were as well as Erik told me you were." He looked pointedly at her ankle. "He didn't tell me how you were injured."

She shrugged and finally decided to lower the knife, though she kept a firm grip on it. "Before I met Erik, I fell on some stairs in the dark. Erik found me, took me here, and he's been taking care of me since. He's seen to everything I need."

"He's been good to you?"

"Of course."

Nadir pulled on his socks and laced up his boots. "Forgive me for asking," he said as he wiped his hands on his coat. "Has he hurt you in any way? Threatened you? We are the only ones here, so you can be honest. If he's keeping you here against your will, I can get some help to get you out."

She shook her head. "No, he's been kind to me. I don't want to leave." After the words left her mouth, she realized how true they were. She had seen a new side of Erik lately, and she really didn't want to leave, not yet.

"Are you sure? Please be honest."

"I _am_ being honest. If you're his friend, then why are you thinking these horrible things about him?" She didn't like where this was going. Even if Nadir was a nice guy, he was scaring her with all of his insistence that Erik, well, _wasn't._

He stood and moved toward her, stopping when she raised the knife again. "As I said, Miss Daaé, I have a long history with Erik. I know quite well what he's capable of. When I tell you he's never had a visitor down here, much less a pretty young lady like yourself, I am trying to protect you."

"I don't need your protection, Mr. Khan. Maybe it's time for you to go."

Nadir's face was pleading. "I can get you out, Miss Daaé."

"I said I don't want to leave!" she all but shouted.

"You have nothing to fear from-" Nadir cut himself off, the blood draining from his bearded face. "Erik!"

Christine felt the room press in around her as Erik's terrible presence filled the space. Nadir was pale, and she feared the man might pass out in sudden terror.

Erik's voice rang out from the darkness: "The lady has answered you, Daroga!"

Nadir jumped, his dark eyes searching the edge of the chamber. "Erik, you know I had to make sure."

"Of what, Daroga?" Erik's voice asked with a snarl. "That Christine was truly safe? That I _hadn't_ hurt her?"

Sweat broke out on Nadir's brow as he backed away from the lake. "Of course I had to."

"You heard what she said, she _doesn't want to leave._ "

"Yes, yes, I heard."

"And yet still you came here."

Erik paused. Christine wished she could see him in the dark. She could often tell his mood from his eyes, and while she couldn't predict what he would ever do, she could see the emotion behind his actions reflected in those glittering depths.

When Erik spoke again, Christine heard a new, dangerous edge. "Why is she carrying a knife, Daroga?"

Nadir had heard it too, but before he could get out a reply, a blood red circle of rope flashed out of the darkness, looping around Nadir's neck and tightening in one quick motion. Erik appeared as Nadir fell to his knees, his fingers grasping at the rope as his face began to turn purple. Erik's yellow eyes were dark with rage. He grabbed the back of the lasso and yanked it, sending Nadir's frantic face tilting upward.

Christine stifled a scream and dropped the knife so she could move quickly with her crutch to the scene. "Erik, what are you- Erik, _stop!"_

She reached his side, not knowing what to do. If she grabbed him, how would he react? Would he turn his weapon on her? He had never actively tried to harm her, but then, she had never seen him hurt someone like he was now.

Erik loomed over the older man. "At the level of your eyes, Daroga. No one threatens my Christine. No one – not even you!" He loosened the noose just enough to let Nadir gasp for a breath.

"Erik, I didn't. I would never-"

Erik flexed his hands and the loop of rope tightened again. He didn't seem to notice Christine standing there, hadn't even glanced at her. His face, the half she could see, was twisted in fury, his normally smooth black hair disheveled and falling about his forehead.

"Stop, Erik," Christine begged. "Please, you're killing him!"

Throwing away her caution, for Nadir's face was turning colors again, she clutched Erik's arm, trying to shake him off the other man. The muscles of his upper arm were bunched tight, and try as she might, she could not budge him.

Without taking the time to think, she wrenched the crutch from under her arm and smacked him across the face with the solid bottom edge as hard as she could.

Erik's face jerked to the side. She had caught him across the mouth, splitting his bottom lip on his unmasked side. It was a wonder that she hadn't knocked off his mask; she wasn't sure she would have survived that kind of betrayal.

He was frozen in place, his eyes staring at nothing in the distance. When she lifted his hands from Nadir's throat, he didn't stop her.

She removed the noose from around Nadir's head and tossed it as far as she could into the lake. He coughed, drawing in fierce, deep breaths of air, rubbing at his throat. Deep red marks sprang up around the thick column of his dark skin. He tried to speak, wheezed, coughed, and tried again.

"Run, child."

She shook her head, helping him to stand. A quick glance at Erik told her that the man hadn't moved from his spot a few feet away, though he had lowered his hands to his sides. He stood straight, still staring away from them. Blood trickled from his lip.

"Miss Daaé, you must-"

She cut him off and took a deep breath. "Mr. Khan, I am perfectly safe here. I already told you: I don't want to leave."

She tried to sound as convincing as possible, but really, she knew little about Erik. She had just watched him try to kill someone he had clearly known for a long time, someone familiar, if not a friend, someone close enough to know where he lived and how to get here.

But his actions had been in the name of protecting her. Erik had seen her with the knife and thought she was in danger, thought she was afraid. Even though she had seen a flash of his potential, a darkness within him that lingered just under the surface, maybe even a glimpse of the man he used to be – she still wanted to stay.

"You threw my punjab into the lake." Erik's voice was soft.

"I did," she said. Tucking her crutch back under her arm, she strode over to Erik and took his hand. His gloved fingers were limp in hers. "Come on, let's look at that lip." Over her shoulder, she gave Nadir a pointed look that said _get out of here_.

Nadir Khan rubbed his neck and wisely didn't argue further.

Christine made her way to the bathroom, Erik trailing after her, still in his dazed state. He still wore his full regalia, and after hesitating for a moment, she lifted his hat from his head, keeping her movements slow in case he wanted to stop her. She sucked in a deep breath and searched for the clasp to his cloak under his chin. The black expanse of fabric was remarkably heavy. She set both items onto the nearby chair.

She gently maneuvered him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. All the while, he hadn't looked at her, but now that his face was about the same height as hers, his gaze swiveled to meet hers.

"You threw my punjab into the _lake_."

"You weren't being nice," she replied as she wetted a washcloth.

"I am never nice."

Ah, so he had recovered from his stupification at last. She raised and lowered her shoulders. "I'm sure you can fish it out if you want it back that badly."

Without waiting for permission, she pressed the damp washcloth to his scraped lip, beginning to dab away the blood. He jerked back, but her hand followed him, continue to clean the small wound. As she washed away the blood, she could see the wound was tiny and shouldn't even scar.

"You don't have to do that," he said, cutting his eyes away from her.

"Based on the way you eat and sleep, I would guess you wouldn't clean it if I didn't."

She kept pushing at him, but she couldn't help it. She felt bold and fearless, a woman who had broken up a fight between two men, who had quelled the anger of this dangerous man and stopped him from committing murder. She _did_ have an effect on him, that was plain to see. Nadir had been so sure Erik was about to hurt her, and yet _, and yet_ , Erik had been pacified by her actions.

Now that the blood was gone, she put aside the washcloth and, before her mind could set off warning bells, swiped her thumb across the bottom swell of his lip, mindful of the cut.

His hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist, not painfully, but strong enough that she couldn't move it away. "What are you doing, Christine?"

"I have no idea," she answered truthfully.

She could feel his anger surge again, his legs tense and ready to spring, his eyes glowing in the candlelight. "Don't test me tonight, Christine. My hands have just tasted the intersect of life and death, and I fear what I may do."

Oh, she had her own temper, to be sure, and it rose hot within her throat. "Is that what you have to say for yourself? I know you were protecting me, but you almost killed someone who obviously adores you!"

Erik swept to his feet, his grip still iron around her wrist, forcing her to stumble a few steps backward. "The Daroga wants nothing more than to force me to atone, to make sure I haven't backslid into oblivion." He bit out the words, looming above her. "He knows more about me than anyone, _anyone_ , and that is why he still haunts me, that is why he won't stop following me wherever I go. He wants to check that I am still Erik, still just me, and not the Angel of Doom once more."

Christine looked up at him, horrified. "Angel of Doom?"

He kept on with his onslaught, his tumble of words. Her back pressed against the wall of the bathroom, and he pinned her wrist at the level of her head. "Those who have known me keep one hand up in my presence for a reason! You told the Daroga that you wanted to stay, you told him, Christine, but you have no idea what you are choosing down here in the dark. You have no idea who this man is that stands before you, barely a man, barely anything more than a beast with a mask." He pressed his face close to hers, his breath a quick pant against her face. "But _he_ knows, and that is why you should leave."

"Then tell me." Her whisper cut through his harsh breathing. "Show me. Then I can decide for myself."

He pulled back to stare at her, his eyes roaming over her face, searching. "You _would_ leave, then."

She jutted out her chin. "I'm not a little girl afraid of the boogeyman, Erik."

Whatever response she was expecting, she was not prepared for him to release her, throw back his head, and laugh – a deep, throaty laugh that she otherwise might have found endearing. Now, it sent a shiver across the back of her neck.

"My dear, I _am_ the boogeyman."

She didn't reply, keeping her chin up, her mouth set at a stubborn angle. His dark humor faded as quickly as it had come, and he beckoned her from the bathroom.

He removed his gloves and fixed them both a glass of wine. Whatever he was about to tell her was a needs-wine-now type of situation, and her heart fluttered behind her ribcage. As promised, he had brought her dinner, but her stomach wasn't in the mood for eating just yet.

Instead of settling in his usual spot in his chair, he sat next to her on the divan, his wine glass cupped with both hands as he leaned slightly forward. He gave her a long, studious look, his eyes taking in her features, before taking a sip of wine and beginning.

"The Daroga feels somewhat responsible for the years we spent together in his home country. He is, after all, the one they sent to find me and bring me back. I had many talents, you see, from illusions to architecture, from singing to… other aptitudes. The Shah of Persia wanted me for himself, and he bought my presence in his city. I didn't need the money, much. However, the lure of going somewhere new and having the freedom to explore my own talents was rather seductive."

She immediately had a dozen questions, but she held them back.

"On the surface, I was the designer of the Shah's new palace, in charge of all things architectural. But my other talents soon became known to the Shah's mother who was a bored woman with too much power. I became her-"

Here he hesitated, took a gulp of wine from his glass, and licked his bottom lip. The flash of that pink tongue shouldn't have caused her to suck in a breath, but it did, distracting her so much that she almost didn't hear his next words.

"I became her assassin."

Assassin? He had been a killer for hirer? Christine took her own long sip of wine.

He pressed onward, the secret already spilt between them. "I amused her by my creativity, but even I became bored after so many years of bodies. I lost track of how many people I killed for her, Christine, because after so many years, I stopped caring to count."

If he noticed her starting to shake, he didn't comment upon it. He took another draught of wine. "After I became a political liability, they tried to have me murdered. The Daroga arranged my fake death so I could escape back to the west. I still do not know why he bothered because in the end, he was thrown in jail himself. He spent five years in hell before they released him and he sought me out."

She found her courage. "Why did they call you the _Angel_ of Doom?"

His eyes stared her down, seeking every reaction from her. "I can sing, you see. My voice has kept me alive on more than one occasion. As a boy, I often used my voice to my advantage. I would horrify crowds with my face, cause women to faint and men to lose their dinners, and then I would thrill them with my singing, and all of them would weep. I made quite a lot of money this way, for a while, after I escaped the ones who had initially forced me to do it. In Persia, the Shah's mother delighted in having me sing before I killed."

So this man, this Erik, had led such a life. She could tell he left out the details for her benefit, that he had only skimmed the surface of what he had experienced in the decades before coming to the opera house. She had always sensed that he was dangerous, and now he had confirmed it, had revealed his years as a killer for hire, and she had seen his abilities for herself.

She would have to revisit the subject of his voice at a later time.

Now, she put down her glass of wine, fearing she would drop it in a moment of weakness. "Your face?"

He gestured at the mask. "This is not for theatrical flair, Christine. They called me Angel of Doom in Persia for I brought only death to them, and my face looks the part. It is the face of a corpse and not a man."

A corpse? She trembled. "You are hardly a corpse, Erik, because of what you look like. A man has treated me well these past few days. A man has helped me sing and bandaged my ankle. I have known only a _man_."

He downed the rest of the wine and set aside his glass. "You speak out of ignorance."

"I've seen injuries," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I saw my father after his car accident, before they took him off life support. I've seen… well, I've seen what surgeries and infection can do to a person. I haven't lived in a bubble all my life."

"This is not an _injury_ , my dear. This is a deformity of birth. I have lived with this face since the moment I was born."

"So show me." The words tumbled out before she could stop them, but she met his incredulous gaze without flinching.

He looked like he was about to flee, his feet tucking under him, his body leaning away from her. "After everything I have told you, you would still dare!"

She wasn't lying when she said she'd seen her share of scars. Her father's car accident had left his body in horrible disarray. They had never taken the bandages off his face, but she could see the dips and contortions that didn't use to be there. His legs had been crushed by the dashboard just before the car caught fire, and only half his body lay under the hospital sheet.

She clasped her hands together to keep from rubbing at her own chest. Yes, she knew a bit about scars. "Has Nadir seen?"

The side of his mouth curled but not in a smile. "Yes, and I believe he had to lie down for fear of fainting."

"I'm not so dramatic, Erik." She thought herself a rather stable person.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then cut them at her. "You, who have had two panic attacks in so many days?"

Oh, that was a low blow. Her panic attacks had only started up in the past two years, right after she was first diagnosed. Before that office visit, she'd never had any problems with anxiety. Before that office visit, she'd been a different person. She wouldn't reveal any of that to him, especially not right now.

She wanted to punch him right in the split lip.

"Say what you like," she said. "All of these people may have called you Angel of Doom because they were terrified of you, but it is _you_ , Erik, who are afraid." His eyes flashed, heating with anger, but she kept going. "You've been afraid of me since I came down here, afraid I'll see, afraid I'll judge you. And because of that fear, you are too paralyzed to even _try_."

"Afraid, am I?" His voice was rough, unglued at the edges.

He grabbed her hand and forced it to press against his mask for the first time. The white porcelain was cool and unyielding under her palm, and she wondered how comfortable such material could possibly be for long periods of time. Did he ever take it off?

"I have rarely been called a coward, Christine, so do it. Take off my mask! See if you have what it takes to look upon the Phantom's face."

His hand pinned hers to that uncompromising white shape, not letting her free but not prying off the mask himself. His eyes glowed, and he held still, awaiting her move.

She could have backed away. She could have refused. But all that would've done is confirm his greatest suspicions: that she was just like all the others who had seen him. She had pushed him to this, and here he was, ready to bend himself to her will, to reveal what others had demanded he keep covered. This face had driven him beneath the opera, had reduced him to a life of darkness and solitude.

Even Nadir Khan, he said, had not been able to handle it.

Her fingers gripped the mask, digging into the sharp angles at his cheek, and slowly began to lift it from his face. Erik sucked in a sharp breath, but held still as she pulled it all the way off. She looked down as she placed the mask in her lap; it was remarkably heavy and lined in silk. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up so she could look directly at him when she was ready. He shifted a little next to her, and his breathing had turned harsh, rapid.

She opened her eyes and took in his revealed face. His right eyelid drooped, the eye sunken into the socket. That side of his nose was stretched outward, the nostril too wide and twisted. His lips flared into two dark lines of lumpy flesh that did not quite close together. His cheek, if she could call it a cheek, ascended into a sharp cheekbone with ribbons of ruined skin that showed tendons beneath.

Yes, it was horrible. Yes, she had never seen a human face look like that before, especially on someone who was still alive.

He panted beside her, his stare heavy and searching. She refused to look away, but she knew from her sudden dizziness that she had likely paled.

"There is more," he said, almost growling the words at her.

"More?" she echoed breathlessly.

He took both of her hands into his cold ones and guided them to his hairline. His fingers showed her how to pinch at the edge of black hair, and her lips formed a shocked "Oh!" before she could stop herself. His hands left hers, and she caught their trembling as he returned them to clasp at the edges of his own coat.

She couldn't stop now, she couldn't refuse, so she tucked her thumbs under the seam of the wig and gently pulled it off his head. The neatly-combed black tresses that were not his own joined the mask in her lap.

Erik's real hair stood out in thin clumps around his head, the wisps paler than she would have expected. What was his true hair color? Light brown? Blonde? His head appeared almost bald without the thick black hair. The wig had also hidden the grotesque form of his deformity spreading across the upper right portion of his skull. The large round patch sunk into his head, the skin stretched thin over bone.

He didn't look anything like he had before. If she passed him on the street, she wouldn't have recognized him. He sat before her, back a rigid line, eyes daring her to act like every person before her had. She made sure his mask and wig were secure in her lap – god forbid she let them fall to the floor – and lifted both hands to his face.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, not moving away.

His eyes darted to each of her hands like a bird watching a cage descend. She gave him plenty of time to flee; she wasn't trying to frighten him. But after seeing his reaction to being touched, after witnessing what _her_ touch could mean to him, she knew what she had to do.

She cupped both sides of his face with her hands. One side was smooth and cool beneath her hand, the other an expanse of rigid flesh and heated skin. She wondered if the mask chafed, causing those red places. She scooted closer, noting his sharp inhalation when she did so, and continued her onslaught. Her hands mirrored each other in their quest across his face, her fingers roaming the ridges, the smooth patches, the soft swells, the irregular spaces never meant for a human face.

No wonder he had suffered. No wonder he had turned into a monster in Persia. She didn't want to cry, she had made herself promise not to, but the wetness flared hot behind her eyes.

Her hands continued upward, smoothing across his head, the ruined portion of his skull. His real hair was surprisingly soft, the skin of his scalp smooth beyond the deformity. She continued, moving closer still, until her hands met behind his head, and she kept going, pressing her body against his chest.

Her arms squeezed around him in a hug.

His shoulders trembled, his breathing harsh in her ear, and his arms, with no space left to go, stuck straight out to either side behind her. If he would not – could not – return her embrace, she could accept that. It was enough that he let her do this.

Once she knew she had a grip on her own tears, she pulled back. He was terrible to look at, even a second time, but the initial shock had worn down, and she was left with numbing sadness for this man beneath the opera. Of course, most people hadn't taken a second look, had they? She met his gaze with her own and willed him to see her compassion for him.

"I need no pity," he said, his voice low.

"Good," she replied. "I don't pity you."

He looked away for a measure, his gaze far away, no doubt remembering something from his past. When he turned back, his eyes were a little too bright. "No one has ever - the way you-"

She gave him a small smile, not knowing what to say. When he reached for the mask and wig, she let him take them back. She wanted to say, _it's okay to leave it all off, to let your skin breathe and heal._ But she stayed silent as he stood and put his back to her. He swept on the wig with practiced ease, and his mask slid back on in one quick motion. When he turned back around, he looked like his usual self, his composure regained along with his disguise.

He held out a hand for her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. He clasped her upper arms with both hands, his grip almost too tight. He clenched his hands, then released her. The closest he could come to returning her hug?

"I'm exhausted," she said, dipping her head a bit. "Would it be all right if I took a plate of food to my room and then crashed for the night?"

If he was disappointed by her quick departure, he didn't reveal it. "Of course, Christine. You make your way while I prepare a tray for you."

"Thank you, Erik."

He gave a short bow and left for the kitchen, as she shuffled, crutch under her arm, to her bedroom. She closed the door and changed into her pajamas, loving the familiarity of her own clothes against her skin, a dark pair of pants and t-shirt with Boston University's logo on it. She had just put away her clothes when he knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He did and sat the tray of food on the nightstand. His white mask clung to his face like a giant weight between them. She was barely able to keep her emotions at bay, and she wasn't sure how successful she was because he hovered in the doorway like a tall, ominous presence.

"May I see your ankle?" he asked, all formality and politeness as though moments ago he hadn't pushed his face inches away from hers. As though moments ago, she hadn't hugged his stunned, thin body.

She really didn't want his fingers upon her, and she feared seeing him kneel before her would make her come undone. However, she remembered how much his massage had soothed the swelling the night before. Now that her medicine had worn off, her ankle throbbed.

She nodded.

He went to one knee, and she assumed the usual position of her foot upon his leg without hesitation. Now that she had seen him unmasked, his disguise was clearer to her, the edges of his wig not quite perfect, his mask not quite covering all of his reddened flesh. As he began to press and knead her ankle, her bottom lip quivered. She sucked it between her teeth.

"Are you all right, my dear?" His voice was soft, his eyes downturned to watch his progress.

She couldn't answer, the lump in her throat preventing speech. She gripped the silk of the bed comforter to still her shaking, but his long, strong fingers danced about her skin, and she shivered.

He glanced up at her. "Ah, there are the tears."

She hadn't realized she was crying. She gasped and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She was stupid, stupid, such a little girl.

He had paused his massage, but now he continued, musing. "Really, tears are the best reaction I could have hoped for. At least you aren't screaming or running away, though without this injury, you might be attempting."

She couldn't take his dark humor. "S-shut up, Erik," she snapped, hiding within her hands. The tears wouldn't stop. "I hate hearing you speak about yourself like that."

"Like what, my dear? It is all true."

"No, it isn't! That isn't how I feel at all!" She shook her head fiercely, her long wavy tresses falling about her shoulders. She kicked her foot a bit so he would let go. Staggered by her behavior, he did.

Then her hands were leaving her face, not quite caring that the tears had left her a wet mess, and grabbing onto the lapels of his coat, dragging him to his knees between her legs. He was so tall that their faces were almost of the same level. She used the momentum and his startled balance to yank him closer still.

"I care about you, Erik! Isn't that obvious by now? I'm not crying because of your face. I'm crying because someone I care about has been hurt so, so badly."

"You-"

He didn't get to finish. Her hands fisted in his coat, her whole body trembling with fear and want and something else she couldn't yet name, and she leaned down, and she smashed her lips to his.

It wasn't graceful. His mouth was open mid-word, and their teeth clanged together. She was too afraid to pull back, afraid she wouldn't get another chance, so she changed the angle, trying a different slant that brought their mouths together with a softer melding of lips. The kiss was wet with her tears and so awkward, and she probably held it longer than she should. His lips never once moved, and he hadn't breathed the whole time.

Oh god, he tasted the way she had imagined, all fireplace smoke and darkness, but she wouldn't let herself linger on the experience. He was a statue on his knees, and fear overwhelmed her. She must have made a dreadful mistake.

When she pulled back, his eyes were wide, all white around the yellow irises, pupils blown. Her fingers were still clenched within the fabric of his coat. His chest pressed between her spread thighs. His hands were splayed to either side of her – to push away, she was sure.

An apology rose to stutter out of her mouth, but he cut her off, voice wondrous. "You have seen my face, and yet you…" He growled, the noise without anger, coming from some primal part of him she had awakened.

He surged upward, his cool fingers tangling within her hair, his body bending over hers as he took her mouth in a surge of enthusiasm.

She had been kissed before, by a few fumbling teenagers in high school and a few more frat boys in college. That had all been years ago. This – this was the embrace of a _man_. His lips, slating deliciously across hers with newfound attention, devoured her with a roughness just this side of pain, and her moan was lost between them. His tongue dipped inside, seeking her out, a foreign slick slide that made her ache in new places. His large body arched over hers, not quite touching but she could feel the heat of him everywhere. His kiss was almost frantic in its quest for greater contact, the kiss that of a man who had seen the sun for the first time.

And just as quickly, he stumbled back and to his feet, and pressed himself against the far wall before she could sit up. His broad chest heaved.

She touched her swollen lips. "Was that… okay? I'm not that experienced."

"Okay!" He was incredulous. "You, Christine, have brought light and wonder and _life_ into my underground tomb. How could you ever call that merely _okay._ " His eyes were intense, the depths swirling with newfound emotion. Her face flushed hotly under that powerful gaze.

She managed a small smile. "Well, I liked it too."

He took a step forward after he seemed to have regained a bit of control. His fingers ghosted along her cheek. "Christine."

She leaned into his touch. "Yes?"

"I must take my leave for the night before that happens again."

She would have laughed at his frank words, but he was so serious. He left the threat – or promise? – hanging in the heavy air between them. She understood exactly what he meant. The fierceness of their kiss suggested way more than she was ready for. She hadn't even wanted to _kiss_ someone in a long time.

"Good night, my dear."

Oh, how she loved that endearment. At first, it had sounded so patronizing, a snide clip that sounded more civil than it was. Now when he said it, with his honeyed voice rough with passion, she felt a thrill run through her.

"Sia's 'Chandelier,'" she said, making him pause in the doorway.

"Pardon me?"

She flushed a little, but pressed onward. "The name of the song I want to sing tomorrow. So you can practice. If it's not too modern."

He dipped his head. "As you wish." And he was gone.

On the nightstand, she found the dinner he had left. He had fixed her a sandwich of sweet ham, cheese, and tomato on rye bread. She ate half of it hungrily and downed the glass of water with two ibuprofen before tucking herself deep within the heavy blankets.

She fell asleep to the sound of his hands pulling a slow, sweet melody from the piano in the other room.


	4. Chapter 4

**A bit of singing and the fallout begins.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

She woke to find a note on the nightstand next to her, written in red ink and a careful, graceful penmanship. Erik's handwriting, no doubt. She yawned, shook out her long hair, and picked up the note.

 _My dear Christine,_

 _I apologize for leaving before you wake this morning, but I have business above. Breakfast awaits you on the table. Please use my home as you would until I return, including the piano. Perhaps you would sing for me?_

 _Your most obedient servant,_

 _Erik_

She tapped the edge of the note to her lips as they curled in a smile. She needed to practice a bit before he came back so she didn't embarrass herself anymore than she already had.

She hadn't taken a bath yesterday, so she decided to clean up before doing anything else. The water felt heavenly, and this time, she had her own soap and shampoo. She did miss the scent of Erik's own soap, the pine and slight hint of musk reminding her of him whenever she caught a whiff of her hair. But her hair missed conditioner and needed a fierce brushing.

She sank beneath the water, relishing the feel of the warmth creeping into her limbs. Despite the fact that summer was in full force in the world above, Erik's domain was perpetually damp and cold. No wonder his hands were always freezing. Though, she had to admit, they had warmed when tangled in her hair…

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, worrying the flesh in remembrance. For a man who had never kissed, who had never been kindly touched, he made up the difference with his enthusiasm. Would he try to kiss her again?

She squeezed her thighs together, feeling the intimate press of water. Oh, she hadn't thought any of this through. She had been overwhelmed with the events of last night, caught up in his confessions. His eyes had held such vulnerability, his voice so soft with wonder when she had touched his hidden deformity.

Her fingers touched her lips, remembering the harsh slant of his mouth on hers. How would those lips feel lower? She let her hand creep down the white expanse of her throat, to her collarbone, lower still. She skimmed her hand over her chest.

Sensitivity so close to pain shot across her torso, and she snatched her hand away, biting back tears of frustration. No, she couldn't let it go any further than kisses. And even then, more kisses were probably a bad, bad idea.

She needed to get out of here eventually. She had to return to the real world, to her mom and friends and college classes and apartment in Boston. Maybe last night had been a big mistake after all. She certainly didn't want to lead him on, and she had completely lost her head in the moment.

The water growing tepid, she finished her bath and dressed quickly in a long skirt and sweater. It was an odd clothing combination, but the skirt was easy to pull over her ankle. She tentatively put some weight on her foot, testing for pain. It felt surprisingly better this morning, and the shape was almost back to normal.

She frowned at that and tucked her crutch under her arm. What would happen when her ankle was healed enough to climb her way out of Erik's home?

A spread of assorted pastries awaited her on the small kitchen table, along with a single red rose in a white vase, the thorns removed with careful accuracy. She bent over and breathed in the colorful aroma. Yes, she had to leave eventually, but while her time here lasted, she intended to avoid bringing up the fact that she needed to leave. At least, for a few more days.

Browsing the book shelves once again, she settled on a book about opera of the late 19th century. She didn't mind admitting that she wasn't a huge fan of the genre, and maybe Erik was right, maybe she just hadn't met the right one. She read for a while, tucked into the divan with a throw blanket around her legs, before her eyelids grew heavy.

The next moment, she woke to the press of coldness against her cheek. She opened her eyes to see Erik crouched beside her, the backs of his bare fingers caressing the side of her face. When he saw her awaken, he held up both hands in a placating gesture, but she wasn't startled by him. In fact, his strong presence soothed her, his all-consuming aura enveloping around her like a blanket.

She took one of his hands in both of hers before he could move away. "Hi."

"I woke you," he murmured. "That was not my intention."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." She smoothed her thumbs over the back of his hand, watched his other hand grasp the black linen fabric that encased his thigh. "I'm sure I napped long enough. I'm glad you're back."

He started at that, his eyes jerking to the floor, to somewhere in the distance, to their combined fingers, and finally, to her face. "As am I, Christine."

Oh, the way he said her name sent an ache racing down her belly. He had bewitched her, she was sure of it. Never before had she reacted so strongly to someone else.

"Thank you for the rose," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "It's lovely." She hesitated, then threw caution to the wind. The worst that would happen is he would pull back before she could go in for the landing. She sat up, scooted closer to him, and kissed him on the cheek.

His pale cheek was smooth beneath her lips. Could he even grow a beard? His real hair had grown in sparse clumps about his head, and she hadn't felt any stubble upon his face yesterday. When she pulled back, his eyes were wide. His hand inside hers spasmed, tightening its grip on her fingers before relaxing once more.

His other hand stayed respectfully on his own thigh. Besides the caress he had snuck when she'd been asleep, he hadn't tried to touch her. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

He snorted, but didn't move away.

She decided to peruse a thought she'd had all morning. "Erik, have you talked to Mr. Khan?"

"Whatever for?"

"I've been thinking about him and wondering if he's okay after…" She swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "After yesterday."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Daroga left alive after his stupidity. Is that not enough?"

"It's my fault he was hurt! He was just trying to look out for me and help-"

"Mettle."

" _Help_ when he thought I was in trouble." She squeezed his fingers. "Please, can you make sure he's okay? For me? Maybe you could go on one of your trips to the surface. You seem to go often enough."

"Business, as I have said, and little concern of yours." His mouth turned down. "Turn your curiosity away from that topic. I will not discuss it."

She let that go, for now. "Just check on him, please?"

He looked down on their entwined fingers. "As you want."

She smiled, then stared down at the spine of the book spread across her lap, needing a change of subject before she pushed too far. He seemed too much on edge right now for anything more. "I've been trying to learn to appreciate opera today."

"Oh?" His uncovered eyebrow rose at her. "And you suppose _reading_ about opera will do it?"

She wasn't sure if he was sneering or trying to make a joke. Based on the fact that he was still allowing her to hold his hand, she guessed he was going for the latter in his unpracticed way. How… cute.

She smiled. "I can hardly play it myself, and I didn't see any form of music around for me to pilfer a listen."

"In time, we shall have to rectify your distaste of opera. You wound me, Miss Daaé." His fingers, warmed by her own touch, clasped around one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the back of that hand, his eyes glittering. "Come. I believe I was promised a song today."

She followed him to the piano, and she found herself marveling at the construction of the instrument as he took his place on the narrow bench. "How did you manage to get this beast down here?"

He began to play a slow, low melody she didn't recognize, his long, slender fingers finding the keys with graceful practice. The edge of his mouth curled upward. "As most of the objects down here, it came in pieces. I built it, over time."

She smoothed an appreciative hand over the edge of the black surface near where he played. "Yet another talent you have?"

"I suppose." Without pausing, he swept the piece of music into a different song, this one she recognized.

"You learned my song!"

He didn't reply, but his gaze said everything. The heat in his eyes became too overwhelming, so she closed her eyes and listened in order to focus on the music, beginning to hum along. As he heard the first sounds of her voice, he changed melodies once again, this time to something with a range of sounds which she could use to warm up.

After about ten minutes, he seemed satisfied with her voice. His fingers rested on the keys, pausing. "Ready, my dear?"

She tapped a finger against her chin as she met his stare. "On one condition."

In response, his fingers belted out a couple cords that caused the chamber to shudder with intense power and sound. Although his mouth didn't quite stretch into a smile, he seemed to be enjoying their playfulness. "And that is?"

"Sing something for me afterward."

Immediately, the lightheartedness left him, his mouth thinning into a firm line. "You don't know what you ask, Christine."

She shook her head, tossing her curls about her shoulders. "I know you play beautifully, and I know you are able to give me lessons like a master of voice would. I also know that your speaking voice hints that you might sing much better than I can."

He began to play again, a contemplative foray into the song she had chosen. "One song, if yours impresses me enough."

"I don't know if that's possible, Erik," she huffed.

"You chose to sing 'Chandelier,' a song rife with tension and dark longing. It is the song of a woman lost to drink, who wants nothing more than to escape her own reality." He pulled the song's melody from the piano, sending chills down her arms. "You cannot only sing the song, my dear. You must live it."

She turned away from him. "You know little about me. Maybe that's easier than you realize."

"Show me," he said, his voice a low purr of challenge.

Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifting high. She stayed facing the dark, open expanse of his home where she knew the lake lurked. As his hands moved the piano's note to the opening of the song, she began to sing. Quietly at first, then growing in strength.

 _Party girls don't get hurt  
Can't feel anything, when will I learn  
I push it down, push it down_

 _I'm the one "for a good time call"_  
 _Phone's blowin' up, ringin' my doorbell_  
 _I feel the love, feel the love_

 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 drink_  
 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 drink_  
 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 drink_

 _Throw 'em back, till I lose count_

Christine felt the strength pour into her. She remembered her father under the white hospital sheets, half his body gone, the other half bleeding under wrappings and torn skin. She remembered her mother, still dressed in mourning black, stuffing her father's belongings into the Goodwill bin as Christine clutched his violin to her chest and begged her mother not to take it. Her mother had left Christine with only an armful of shirts, and only then because Christine had run off and hid them.

Christine remembered having to take classes in staging and lighting and other components of stage management instead of voice lessons like she wanted. She had spent years watching Meg take the stage as a ballet dancer instead of joining her friend like she wanted.

Christine remembered the call from the doctor, the call she missed that left a voicemail on her phone. She had replayed that message over and over: worrying test results, make an appointment immediately, we need to talk to you. Christine remembered sitting in the office while the doctor spoke to her of her options and hearing little of what was said after the word _cancer_. She remembered calling her mother as she drove home, speeding on the interstate as she screamed her tears into the phone.

She remembered the feel of Erik's lips upon her own, the gnash of teeth and tongue and the burn of future promises that couldn't' be kept. Because what kind of future could they have together, down her in the darkness? The call of reality was pressing in around her.

Christine's voice swelled within her, and she stretched her arms out wide.

 _I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier  
I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist  
Like it doesn't exist  
I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry  
I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier_

 _But I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down won't open my eyes  
Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight  
Help me, I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down won't open my eyes  
Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight  
On for tonight_

She came down from her high, swaying as she sang the next verse. She could picture it all within her closed eyes, and her voice sang with unlimited clarity and passion like it had never before.

 _Sun is up, I'm a mess  
Gotta get out now, gotta run from this  
Here comes the shame, here comes the shame_

 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 drink_  
 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 drink_  
 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 drink_

 _Throw 'em back till I lose count_

She threw open her arms once again, her eyes closed. Faintly, she heard Erik suck in a shuddering breath, but his presence faded behind her as she was lost in the past.

 _I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier  
I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist  
Like it doesn't exist  
I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry  
I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier_

 _But I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes_  
 _Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight_  
 _Help me, I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes_  
 _Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight_  
 _On for tonight_

Her voice caught on the last word, and she swallowed hard to get past the tears that threatened to surface.

 _On for tonight  
'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight  
Oh, I'm just holding on for tonight_

She cut off, unable to finish, lowering her arms to her sides, her body wracked with sobs. _  
_Erik finished the song, letting the last notes hang in the air. She didn't hear him move but his arms suddenly came around her, wrapping around her torso from behind. They enfolded her body as she wept, his scent of ash and ink and darkness invaded her senses and pulling her out of her memories.

She turned in his arms and returned his embrace, clutching at the back of his coat and burying her face against the juncture of where his cravat tucked into his vest. He was strong around her, hugging her tightly in a way he hadn't before.

"Ah, Christine," he breathed, tickling the hair on the top of her head. "That was beyond exquisite."

She released a shuddering sigh into his chest. "Not professional of me."

He pulled back enough to cup her face in his large hands. His thumbs brushed away the wetness clinging to her cheeks. She couldn't bear to see his eyes, but as he tilted her chin with a gentle tenderness, she met those golden depths and saw a swirl of mixed emotions. He looked at her as though he truly saw her, with shining wonder, a glare of fierce pride, and something stormy that lurked under the surface.

" _You_ were exquisite," he reaffirmed and bent down to touch his lips to hers.

The kiss was barely a kiss, a soft skimming touch that electrified her. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, his mask grazing her temple.

She gave him one more quick hug before taking one step back, needing a little distance from the headiness his presence gave her. "Enough to hear a song of your own?"

"More than." He seemed to hesitate, his hands falling to his sides, torn by indecision.

She moved even further away, sitting on the edge of the piano bench and patting next to her. "Please?"

"How can I follow that performance, my dear?"

"You don't have to sing your soul, Erik. Maybe something to relax me?"

He obliged, sliding next to her on the bench. His fingers spread across the ivories once again, hovering just above them as he thought. He began to play something unhurried, the notes drawn out and precise with his feet upon the pedals. And then, gradually, his voice joined in.

Immediately, she recognized he was speaking his native language, the French words rolling off his tongue with ease. His voice swelled and lulled as he followed the piano's lead. She sat so close to him, their thighs almost touching, that she could feel the vibration of his song within him. His voice was unlike anything she had ever heard before, a dark, liquid slide like brandy or smooth honey. How was he even real? This masked man who lived beneath the Palais Garnier, who had lived such a terrible life, who had been treated like a monster, had the voice of an _angel_.

If she called him that, she could only imagine the reaction she would get. Instead, she wanted to show him how he had made her feel. As his last notes echoed into the void, and his hands stilled, she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. She let one of her hands come up to grasp his cold fingers.

He stiffened for a moment, and then seemed to visibly force himself to relax beside her. How long would it take before her touch didn't startle him?

"Was that to your liking, my dear?" He tried to keep his voice light, but she heard the tremor as he added the now familiar endearment.

"I have never heard anyone sing like that before," she said honestly. "You're the one who should be onstage, Erik!"

He gestured with his other hand at his face. "It takes more than a voice to make a superstar."

"Record your songs, then. You write your own music, right? You could make millions just from your CDs and downloads."

"And deal with the publicity, the prying. The questions alone would send me back underground."

She shook her head. "If you were anonymous, no one would even know where to start."

His fingers tightened around hers. "There are ways to find out with little information to go on."

"Erik-"

"Christine," he snapped. His tone was no longer mild, the sudden anger causing her to jerk back. "Enough entertaining these impossible fantasies! What do you think would happen if authorities caught wind of a masked man with an unusual voice? Five countries still want me dead, my dear! They haven't just _forgotten_."

"Oh." And she was thrown back to the reality of who exactly still held her hand.

"Yes, _oh_ ," he said, his fierce eyes scornful.

She tried to tug back her hand but he held fast. "There is no reason to get nasty, Erik. I just wanted to say how much I loved your singing."

"Of course you love it. Christine loves the voice as long as the mask stays on! They all love the voice."

"That's not at all what I said." Her own anger surged forward. "Don't you dare. Not after yesterday. If you want to take off your mask, then take it off. I don't care either way." Were they both seriously still sitting on this bench, having a fight? Was he holding on as though afraid she would flee?

"Such lovely liars," he spat. "You care. Everyone cares!"

Oh, she was seriously pissed now. He loved to turn nasty when uncomfortable, when challenged. Well, she could be unfair too.

Her free hand darted forward and snatched the mask from his face. As he tried to scoop it from her, she threw it across the piano's wide expanse where it disappeared somewhere unseen.

He was just as hideous as she remembered, especially now as his unnatural features were twisted with rage. His misshapen nostril flared as he breathed heavily, his mouth bent into a scowl, and his yellow eyes pierced her. Insanely, she wasn't afraid of him, even then.

When he spoke, he seethed with barely-restrained power. "You have a bad habit of touching things that don't belong to you, Christine."

She knew how violent he could be, but she was heady with anger. While everything about him right now warned her to reign in her own words, she simply didn't care enough to try. She was so _tired_ of tiptoeing around him.

Glaring right into his eyes, she placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the hard muscle jump under her touch.

"Such as you?"

He surged off the bench in a blur of black and scent of smoke. She thought he was going to stalk around the room or simply run off. Instead, he spun around and scooped her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. She didn't have time to protest or even struggle as he crossed the room in a few long-legged strides and dumped her upon the divan.

She knew her eyes were wide, and she wondered if she looked more frightened than she felt at that moment, her hair in wild disarray. "Erik-"

With a desperate urgency, he followed her onto the small couch, his body surged over hers as he took her mouth with his. Gone was his previous hesitation, and he had learned much in the hours since their last passionate kiss, reigning in teeth and tongue and sending desire spreading hot within her.

Oh, he was a fast learner.

Oh, she was in trouble now.

One of his knees pressed between her legs, pinning her skirt to the sharp fabric of the divan, trapping her lower body. She was caught between wanting to push him away and clutch him closer, a push-pull conflict that spun around inside her. She felt like she was watching herself move without her consent, outside of her own body. All of her earlier hesitations slowly melted away under the insistence of his mouth. She was drunk on the newness and danger of it all, and her inhibitions vanished.

His hand found hers and pulled it to the unmasked side of his face, his fingers trembling, asking. She obliged, pressing her palm against his twisted cheek, her fingertips splaying across the hairline of his black wig.

He moaned, then, and she wanted to hear more of that sound from him. She grabbed his coat with her other hand, pulling him closer still. Her mouth broke suction long enough for her to press fervent kisses along his jaw, across his deformed cheek, to where rough skin met his ear.

"Christine…" he said, his slivery voice rasping. He turned his head and his lips found the curve of her neck. His mouth was heated by their kisses, and each new press of lips to her sensitive skin felt like she was being scorched by the sun.

Touching his face wasn't enough. She wanted more of him, more of the feel of his body against her fingertips. She let go of his jacket and thrust her hand between coat and his chest, searching blindly as she tilted her head back so he could continue his conquest of her throat. She found the edge of his vest, dipped between the black folds of vest and cravat, and slid two fingers between buttons on his shirt. The pads of her fingers slid along a new expanse of cool, smooth skin.

His mouth let go of her neck, gasping.

Looking back, she would know that was the moment she had made a mistake. Right now, entangled in the weight of his body above hers, she had no thoughts beyond _more contact, more of that_. And so she didn't blame him for his response. A man who had been denied touch his entire life, who hung on every stroke of skin against skin, was bound to return her questing caresses with some of his own.

She didn't pull her fingers away, smoothing them across that inch of chest. She marveled at the lack of hair, the feel of this intimate space of him above her. He shifted, capturing her lips once more, delving a sure tongue inside with greater boldness.

This time, she was the one who moaned.

And that's when she felt one of his hands slip down the side of her torso, the caress slow and tender, but determined on its path. So slight, almost not even there, and her attention was swept back toward the feel of tongue against tongue. She petted the ruin of his face, then grasped his shoulder for more stability against the dizzying swirl of sensations.

The hand found the edge of her sweater and dipped beneath the purple fabric. Icy softness brushed against the bottom of her ribs. Her sudden protest was lost within another whimper of pleasure as he shifted his weight, his knee between her legs pressing upward to a point that made her vision blur. She doubted he'd even realized what he had done. Her mind sent off warning bells once again, but her body swirled with sensation, his mouth slanting across hers.

His cold touch swept up her ribs and covered one mound of her bra.

Panic shot through her. _No, no, no, no!_ She bucked against him, retracting both of her hands to clutch at his beneath her shirt. She did her best to both lift his hand off of her and shove him away at the same time.

She jerked her head to the side, freeing her voice from his lips. "S-stop! Oh, stop stop stop. Please stop!" She tried to kick him away, desperate to get away from his searching fingers, but he remained crouched over her, his knee pinning her down, stunned into motionless.

"Christine, what-" He shook himself and finally tore away from her. His golden gaze, still hazy from want, widened as he watched her clutch her sweater to her chest, drawing her knees up as she might a shield.

She fought to slow her breathing. Adrenaline hit her system in a rush of terror, leaving her shaky and panting. "P-please, Erik. Don't. Stay back. Don't." She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, burying her face in her drawn up knees.

She heard him settle on the edge of the divan. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head. He hadn't, not really.

"Then…" He paused, and when she peered over the top of her skirt, he had covered the side of his face with his hand. "This terrified you."

"No!" she said, louder than she meant to. "This has nothing – _nothing_ – to do with your face, Erik, and everything to do with me."

He snorted, not removing his hand. "It's not you, it's me. I suppose that is better than stay away, you disgusting freak."

She stared at him a moment, noticing his cravat pushed to the side, his black wig slightly askew. She should have known things were progressing too fast; she shouldn't have kissed him last night. She shouldn't have encouraged any of this. Hadn't she kept away from all male attention for the past two years for a reason?

She buried her face in her knees, struggling past the tears that fell. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for things to go that far."

"No, I suppose you did not."

She felt him stand and heard the light tap of his black shoes on stone as he walked back toward the piano. She knew when she looked up again, he would have put back on the mask. He moved back over to stand near her.

"I will go see how Daroga fares," he said softly. "I did state I would."

"Erik, _please_ believe me when I say how sorry I am. All of that was my fault." She sneaked a peek at him, but he wasn't looking at her. Why couldn't she just tell him the truth? Would that be easier? Wouldn't he, of all people, understand?

"Yes, I believe you are sorry." He glanced at her, then strode away to grab his cloak and hat. "I will return later with dinner."

All she could do was nod. As soon as he had vanished, she rushed to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Her pillow cradled her hot face, wet with tears that began to flow freely.

After all of that, after everything she had done to try to show him how she felt, he thought she had recoiled because of _his_ deformity. She couldn't imagine what was going on in his head right now. All she knew is that she couldn't have wounded him worse if she had stabbed him with an actual knife.

When he came back, she decided, she would tell him everything. She would tell him the truth about why she had stopped him. She would tell him about the diagnosis, the doctors' visits, the treatments, and why she wasn't ready for him to see or touch _that_. About why she might not ever be ready.

She just hoped he would give her the chance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

At some point over the next hours, Christine realized she hadn't used her crutch since the early morning. Her ankle was of a normal size, and there was only a mild soreness when she rotated it. She wasn't ready to run a marathon, but she thought she could probably make her way around without help.

She should show Erik her recovery progress, but she wasn't sure what he would say. Or do. He was a loose cannon, ready to go off whenever someone lit a match. She desperately needed to talk to him. She wasn't sure how much she wanted to reveal, but at least a little bit might help placate him.

Erik didn't come to her when he returned. She only knew he had from the music that began to drift from the piano. The sudden playing startled her, and she quickly got up from the bed to head into the living room. She had been reading the book on opera, and she wanted to talk to him about the section on French opera. She brought the book with her just in case.

She had never heard anything like what he was playing, and she knew without a doubt that he was playing his own music, something he had created out of his own despair. Sometimes he would pound upon the keys, a furious, desperate melody that she literally felt deep in her heart. Then he would slow, drawing out the minor chords in a way that made her shiver.

Was he still upset about earlier? Is that why he was acting this way?

As she made her way to the main living area, she caught sight of him sitting upon the bench, his back to her. He was hunched over the keys, his back an arch of tension, his hands flying wildly to and fro.

"Erik?" she called softly.

If he heard her, he gave no indication. He continued to play his mad composition, a never-ending dichotomy of sounds. She set her book on the low table near the divan. Giving him a wide berth, she moved to stand next to him, in his field of view where he could see her if he looked up.

He didn't acknowledge her, but she knew he noticed her there. His fingers played quicker, beating eerie chords out of the ivories.

"Erik," she tried again. "What's wrong? Is this about earlier?"

He paused long enough to bite out a string of words: "Rejection is hardly a new tune for me." He began to play again with one hand while the other produced a yellow manila envelope and tossed it at her feet. Then he went back to his furious performance.

Heart pounding, she picked up the large envelope and thumbed open the top flat. As she pulled out the thick stack of papers, she immediately caught sight of the official letterhead at the top of the first page.

 _Hartford Hospital; Hartford, Connecticut_

 _Dr. Helena Thompson_

 _Oncology Associates_

She glanced down the first page, seeing her name and medical terminology with which she was now very familiar. She didn't need to read through to know what she was looking at. She did a quick flip of the pages, seeing familiar files related to oncology. Radiation. Treatment options. Surgery. Hospitalization for infection. More surgery. The last two years of her life compiled in a thick, sterile file.

She gripped the papers with both hands, wanting to rip them to shreds. "How did you get all this?" Her voice wavered only slightly, and she glared at him through her tears.

He did stop playing then, resting his hands calmly on his thighs. When he looked at her, his yellow eyes flashed with anger. He had no right to be mad at _her_!

"Daroga has his own talents, his own connections. Medical records are an easy thing to find."

"But _why_?"

"I have told you, he is the ultimate meddler in my affairs. He dug his way into your life story and found what he was looking for. I suppose he believes the definitive stain on my soul would be if you died down here."

She shook with ice-cold fury. "This is none of your business!"

"None of my business!" He swept off the bench, stalking toward her. Without thinking about her actions, she flung the medical records at him. He batted them away with an arm, causing an explosion of white papers that floated about the floor, but he stopped himself before he came closer.

"Exactly!" She heard how shrill she sounded, but she didn't care. "You didn't need to know any of this. You invaded my privacy!"

He started toward her again, and she stumbled back to put the divan between them. " _You_ took off my mask, Christine. _You_ kissed the monster under the opera. _You_ dared to touch me again and again, and I believed all of it. But a dying woman cannot make any promises!"

She sputtered. "I'm not dying! I've- I've had treatment, I've gone through pills and radiation, and so many fucking doctors' visits!"

He knew all of this already. She had no doubt that he had read every record in her file. He knew _everything_.

Her face heated. "I have another check scheduled soon to make sure I haven't relapsed, but right now, I'm in remission. Still, you had no right to know any of that!"

"And if you grew sick? The flu put you in the hospital twice last year! If you caught something down here in the dark and cold, I would never have forgiven myself. And I don't do well with guilt." He swept around the divan and caught both of her upper arms in his steel grasp. She pushed at his chest with her fists, but he held tightly, giving her a shake as he spat at her. "I am used to this dampness, this stone coffin, but you are not, Christine. You, with your warmth, your softness, your _goodness_ , are not."

"I was cleared for travel!"

"And travel you will." He let go of one of her arms to fetch a smaller packet from inside his coat. He pressed it into her grasp and spun away, breathing heavily.

She held a plane ticket in her shaking fingers.

"W-what is this, Erik?"

"It is time for you to go home, Christine."

And tears flowed freely down her cheeks. "You're sending me away?"

Now he was the one stumbling away from her. "I am setting you free!"

"Of course you would say that." She was growing hysterical. She could hear it in her voice. Would she have another panic attack? Would he even care? "You don't know anything, do you? You don't understand _anything_."

He thrust a long finger in the direction of her room. "Go pack, Christine. You will have a few hours of rest, and then Nadir will drive you to the airport."

She laughed at him in desperation. "You stupid, _stupid_ man!"

"Go pack, Christine! Or leave it all. I do not care either way. But you _will_ go with him, and you _will_ get on that plane."

She wanted to scream at him _you can't make me!_ He could make her, he had always been in control of whether she stayed or went. He hadn't mentioned that she was walking around freely without her crutch, but she supposed that just made it all the easier to throw her out.

She stalked back to her room and slammed the door, well aware of how childish she looked. Her pillow muffled her scream.

Seconds later, Erik's morbid song rose up again from the piano.

* * *

Sometime after she had cried out every tear she could, a small knock sounded on her door. She didn't move, still pressing her flushed face to her now damp pillow. She heard the rustle of clothing and then the sharp tap of glass against stone as something was set on the floor.

"Water and food," said Erik, his voice rough.

 _I hope his fingers are bleeding_ , she thought, glad for at least a few moments of silent reprieve.

Her body desperately wanted both, but she couldn't bear to see him, not yet. She waited until his footsteps faded away, waited longer until he began to push his desperate melodies out of the piano once again. Only then did she rise, quickly scoot the tray into her room, and close the door.

The cool glass of water felt heavenly down her throat. She chased each gulp with a bite of the sandwich he had made. Even after all of that, he was looking out for her.

Of course, now he just thought of her as a cancer victim.

Stiffly, she grabbed her suitcase, flinging it open, and began to throw in her belongings. She hadn't unpacked much, not wanting to make a mess where Erik could see. She had a small pile of dirty clothes that she threw in without care. With one arm, she swept her lotion and a few small toiletries she kept on the dresser into the open carcass of her suitcase. Who cared how she packed?

She threw open the door to the bedroom and strode into the bathroom. She only kept her toothbrush and toothpaste in there, along with her bath items, and she was able to easily grab those. Erik's music quieted a bit as though he was trying to listen to her actions while continuing to also play.

She threw everything into her suitcase. She zipped up her suitcase, kicked it upright, and flung up the tow handle. Then she grabbed her purse, throwing it over her shoulder. She slipped on a pair of sandals and tied her hair back into a low ponytail.

Lugging everything behind her, she walked out of the bedroom with grim determination.

"I'm ready!" she shouted over the piano.

He didn't turn to look at her. He didn't even pause.

She dragged her suitcase across the living room and left it near the corridor where she knew the lake and its boat lay in wait. Seeing the book on opera laying on the table where she had left it, she hesitated, then grabbed it and tossed it into her purse before she could change her mind.

Then she stalked back to Erik, hoisting her purse back over her shoulder. "I want my cell phone battery back."

He glanced at her, his expression cool and calm. "Your flight isn't until 7:45 am. You still have nine hours before you need to check in."

"I don't care. I can sleep at the airport."

"Nadir isn't here to pick you up, my dear. He is the one with a car." Erik tapped out a low melody, contemplative. "Likely, the old fool is already asleep."

"Then give me my battery, and I will call a cab."

"My Daroga feels responsible for you. He wants to make sure you make it safely to the airport."

She took a deep breath. "I don't want to spend another second here! _Call him!_ " She searched her purse for her cell phone and flung it at him. The phone thudded against his chest and fell into his lap. She felt a surge of satisfaction.

Erik stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he pulled the battery from his coat pocket and slid it into the phone. He punched a number and waited with the phone to his ear.

Christine folded her arms and stared back.

"Ah, Monsieur Khan," Erik said, his tone mocking. "Why, yes, I know the hour. My dear Christine wants to go to the airport now. Yes, _now_. She may yet walk if you do not come to fetch her. Of course you may speak to her. No need to shout." He pressed the speaker button with a thumb. "Go ahead."

" _Miss Daaé, I understand that you are under a lot of stress right now, but_ - _"_

She hoped her voice sounded as pissed as she felt. "Come get me. Now."

"Miss Daaé-"

"I'm going to the airport now one way or another, Mr. Khan. Since you seem so concerned with my safety, I'm being nice and letting you pick me up. How far away do you live?"

"About twenty-five minutes. But why-"

"You have thirty minutes before I leave."

As Nadir sputtered, Erik ended the call with a tap of his thumb. He coolly passed the phone to her, and she slipped it into her purse.

"Satisfied, my dear?"

She wanted to scream at him. Of course she wasn't _satisfied_. Thoughts swirled in her head, a thousand things she could say at that moment. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked to the small, makeshift kitchen. In a bowl on the table, she found an apple and began to devour it with ferociousness.

Behind her, Erik began to play once again.

* * *

Christine kept a close eye on the clock on her phone. Nadir Khan arrived twenty minutes later, out of breath and moping the sweat from his brow. Dark bruises appeared beneath his shirt collar, and she felt a small pang of guilt when seeing how much Erik had hurt him because of her.

Though really, only Erik was to blame for his rotten temper.

She jumped up when she saw the Persian and threw her purse over her shoulder. Erik hadn't moved from his position on the piano bench, and his melody picked up in tempo and volume. Christine had wondered if her masked companion would take her to the surface himself, but it seemed he would let his old friend do all the work.

"I'm ready, Mr. Khan," she said, straightening. "I just have the one suitcase."

Nadir glanced at the black-clad figure pounding furiously on the keys a few yards away. "Anything else, Miss Daaé?"

"Of course not."

She refused to look at Erik, and he was giving her no notice. As Nadir took her suitcase and led her to the small boat, she expected Erik to come after her. She really did. A small part of her thought he might change his mind at the last second and charge down the hall after her. Nadir helped her into the boat and pushed them off the edge of the shore.

Erik didn't come. Christine heard him continue to play, and the notes echoed off the yawning expanse of stone ceiling above long after she lost sight of his home in the darkness.

* * *

Nadir tried to strike up friendly conversation as he pushed them across the inky waters with the pole, but her glare quickly made him falter into silence. When they landed on the far shore, she climbed out. She didn't recognize this new cavern and guessed that he had steered them to a new, working exit. When he offered to carry her suitcase, she let him. She took some perverse pleasure in watching him struggle with both her large suitcase and the lantern he held.

They climbed a long, winding staircase, took a door to the left, and climbed again. Nadir said nothing except to direct her or tell her to watch her step. A glance at her cell phone told her they had been walking with a steady ascent for nearly thirty minutes. Erik had been right, at least, about this: she couldn't have made it out with a busted ankle.

She pushed aside thoughts of him. She hadn't sensed his presence this whole time, and she guessed that he hadn't followed them. She heaved a relieved sigh when Nadir finally pushed open a door, and fresh air hit her face. It was a clear, warm summer night, a gentle breeze cutting through what might have otherwise been mugginess. Christine didn't care. It was her first taste of outside in days, and she relished the feeling across her skin.

"My car is around the corner, Miss Daaé," said Nadir, setting her suitcase down on its wheels.

She nodded. They had emerged from the ground itself, the exit a small hatch tucked into an otherwise nondescript alley across from the opera house. The Palais Garnier rose before them, a haunting reminder of what she had just experienced. Nadir secured the door with a padlock – only a way out if you had gone in?

She followed Nadir to a sleek black car parked outside a nearby café and climbed into the passenger side after he opened the door. She could feel him glancing at her as he began to drive.

"You still have a long time before your flight, if you would rather rest at my flat first." She could tell he was trying to be kind. That seemed like Nadir Khan's motto – kindness first, practicality second. He should sooner realize that not everyone preferred _kindness_. Sometimes, sparing someone from reality was more harmful.

"No," she said. "I want to wait at the airport." The sooner she separated herself from everything and everyone who reminded her of Erik, the better.

"Very well." He drove on.

Charles de Gaulle Airport wasn't that far away – a little less than 30 minutes from the opera house in such little traffic. Christine took out her plane ticket to look at the details for the first time. The flight was at 7:45 in the morning, like Erik had said, and there was only one stop at JFK. The ticket had cost over three thousand dollars.

She turned to Nadir. "Did you buy this ticket or did Erik?"

"I did, Miss Daaé, but I used his funds. He insisted."

She hadn't thought about Erik as having money, but as she considered his home, she did remember thinking that his furnishings, while sparse, seemed expensive and well-made. His clothes as well were tailored and made with fine fabrics.

"How does he have the money for this anyway? Does he have a job?" She was prying, but she didn't care. Erik wasn't around to scowl at her, now was he?

Nadir frowned, and Christine thought he was choosing his words carefully based on how mad Erik might get if he knew. "Erik has past and current exploits that serve him well. We are also both very good at managing money. Miss Daaé." He paused, licked his lips, cleared his throat. "I have never seen him act with anyone the way he has acted with you."

"Is that why you forced him to send me home?" A headache was forming between her eyebrows. She resisted the urge to rub across her breastbone. How long had it been since she had taken any painkiller? As soon as she got on that plane, she'd pop a Percocet and pass out.

"I have known him for over twenty years." He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. "You don't know how much of that has been spent getting him out of trouble."

Her eyes widened as she realized something. "You're protecting him as much as me."

"What he is now is largely my fault."

"Because of Persia."

Nadir choked. When they stopped in a line of cars pulling up to the airport, he turned to gawk at her. "He told you?"

"Yes. At least vaguely. He knows what you're doing, Mr. Khan."

The older man pulled out a handkerchief and swiped it across his brown. "I can't believe he spoke with you about those years. He has _never-"_ He stopped, tried again. "Maybe I was too quick to judge his intentions with you. Your illness was the perfect opportunity to save him from making any dreadful mistakes, but I see likely that he had himself under control."

"I suppose." Christine thought of their kisses, their touches, and how they had been so close to going beyond even that. Neither one of them had been in control of themselves, had they?

Nadir pulled up to the American Airlines loading platform. Christine made sure she had her ticket and passport ready while he pulled her suitcase from his trunk.

They both stopped on the platform, gazing at one another. Nadir handed her a small envelop, saying the money tucked inside was for food and a cab back to her apartment once she arrived home.

Christine thought she might cry, but she was too exhausted for that. Her tears would have to wait until she landed in Boston. She opened her mouth to thank him, and the words dried up inside her. She would have rather been left alone.

Nadir tucked both of his hands into his pockets. "My number is in your phone, Miss Daaé, if you have need of me. Don't hesitate to call. Text me when you arrive so that I – _we_ – know you are safe. Please."

It was something a friend or family might say, something a father would ask of his daughter. She barely knew the man, and yet she could see why Erik kept him around.

"He's lucky to have you," she said, meaning it. "Take care of him for me."

He nodded. "As long as he lets me."

She really didn't have much else to say. She didn't want to shake his hand or linger. Now that she was at the airport, now that it was clear this was happening, that Erik wasn't coming for her, and that this little adventure was over, she just wanted to get away.

She grasped her purse with one hand and kicked the suitcase onto its wheels with a foot. "Goodbye, Mr. Khan."

"Goodbye, Miss Daaé."

She felt his eyes watching her enter the airport, but she didn't look back. The cool air hit her face and made her shiver as she strode to the American Airlines ticket counter. She checked her suitcase in and found her gate. Despite the late hour – or early hour, depending on how she looked at it – passengers walked to and fro. Here and there she saw other people sleeping in wait of their own flights.

She settled into a comfortable spot stretched across two chairs near her gate. She set an alarm on her phone for two hours before her flight, and seriously considered calling her mom. It wasn't a weekend, though, so likely her mother was fast asleep. She'd call her as soon as had to change planes in New York.

Christine pulled the book on opera from her purse and ran her thumb across the gold-embossed title: _History of 19_ _th_ _Century Opera_. She felt a little heady at having stolen the book from Erik. She wasn't interested in reading right now, the pull of getting a little sleep dragging down her eyelids, but the sight of the book helped ground her. The past days hadn't been just a dream. They had happened. All of it had happened.

She flipped to the spot where she had tucked a long strip of paper as a makeshift bookmark.

Erik had written on it.

She knew without a doubt that was his handwriting. The red ink scrawled across the small rectangle of paper with a hurried grace she had seen on his compositions. The message was brief.

 _Daignez seulement écouter, un moment,_

 _Ce qu'elle va conter aux étoiles_

Of course he would leave her a message in French, the smug bastard. Christine pulled out her cell phone and ran the text through Google Translate.

 _Deign only to listen one moment,_

 _what she is going to tell the stars_

What the hell was this supposed to mean? Was it a quote? Her first instinct was to wad the piece of paper into a ball and throw it away. She could feel her pulse quicken, and she forced herself to relax. She wouldn't let him get to her. She _wouldn't_.

What was he trying to say? Christine's head spun the two lines in different angles, and none of them were that great to consider. When had he even written the passage – days beforehand? Right after he had read her medical files and decided to send her away? She had left the book near him when she'd run back to her room. She bet he had written in it then.

Christine clapped the book shut with the bookmark hidden away and shoved it back into her purse.

If he had been here, she would definitely unload all of the thoughts she would tell the stars. She scoffed to herself at the cryptic message. She was in no mood. Any feelings for that man were squelched after his betrayal. She would go home and continue to life her life _without_ him and his stupid drama.

Using her purse as a pillow, she tried to get some sleep before her alarm went off. For the next few hours, the book was a solid, hard lump under her head.

* * *

She woke up a loud noise thumping inside her skull, driving her above the surface of unconsciousness. Christine cracked open her eyes, found her phone with blurry nonprecision, and tapped off the alarm. For a few disorientated moments, she wondered when Erik had let her keep her cell phone battery. Then she heard a woman's calm voice announcing that the flight to London, England would begin boarding. The flight just before hers.

Christine snapped to reality, sitting up quickly. The seats around her had begun to fill up as she slept – a little unsettling. A search of her purse told her that nothing had been taken, and she seemed physically fine, a little rumpled and in desperate need of a toothbrush. In her haste to get out of Erik's presence, she hadn't packed anything for her long trip home, not even some deodorant.

She still had at least an hour before her flight boarded. She spent the time freshening up the best she could. The great thing about airports is that they had pretty much anything you might need to sleep there – toiletries were easy to find. Breakfast was a giant iced coffee with caramel, something she had sorely missed in the depths below the opera. She bought a different book to preoccupy her mind, a safe choice involving no romance.

By the time she finished her errands, her flight was readying itself for boarding. She glanced around her, seeing only strangers, hearing a half-dozen different languages being spoken, the press of bodies stifling after spending so many days with only Erik for company.

As the flight attendant at the front desk began to call rows for boarding, Christine understood with compete finality that he wasn't coming for her. Whatever they had shared – kisses, touches, the music – had in the end meant little enough.

Her eyes burned hotly, but she refused to cry, not yet, not while she was going to be crammed in a plane for the next thirteen hours.

He wasn't coming for her. He had let her go. And so she would have to do the same to him.


	6. Chapter 6

**I would LOVE comments on this monster of a chapter. Let me know what you think?**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

She slept as much as possible on her first flight to JFK airport. When she wasn't sleeping, she was reading the novel she had picked up and steadfastly ignoring the slip of paper tucked inside the other book.

As soon as she landed on American soil, she didn't waste any time calling her mother on her way to her next gate. Christine was back in the same time zone as her hometown, and the hour was late afternoon. She had over another hour's flight to reach Boston.

She was pleased that her voice didn't waver, not even once.

" _Hi, Chrissy!"_

"Hi, Mom. I'm back in the States. Layover in New York, in fact."

" _Oh? I thought you weren't coming home until Sunday. What happened to your week-long excursion?"_

"Plans changed," Christine said, tight-lipped. "I guess I just wanted to come back early."

She could tell the way her mother's voice changed, dropping to almost a whisper as though they were co-conspirators. Christine knew what Anna was about to bring up. Her mother hadn't dealt well with Christine's diagnosis, preferring to ignore the elephant in the room and say everything was going to be okay before she knew for sure. Sometimes the optimism was welcome, but Christine would rather her mom never bring it up than whisper about her illness as though afraid someone would overhear.

" _Are you feeling okay, honey? Are you in pain?"_

"Not much," Christine answered honestly. "And I feel okay. Just tired from all the travel. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed."

" _I bet you are! I know you'll want to rest for a while, but I'll come to visit once you've settled back into your apartment, okay?"_

"Sure, Mom." She hesitated, but trudged ahead. "Hey, let's postpone the list of things to do, for now, okay? I think it's probably better I don't do much before school starts back."

 _"Oh, Chrissy, that's disappointing, but I understand. Rain check?"_

"Rain check," Christine agreed.

" _How about I come in a week or two after classes start? You'll be settled and up for some girl time, right?"_

"That sounds great, Mom."

Christine said her goodbyes and promises to talk again soon and hung up. The short conversation had drained her. How was she going to keep from telling her mom the truth about what had happened over the past four days? How could she keep that from _anyone_? That kind of silence seemed impossible. She needed someone to confide in, and her twitchy, can't-deal-with-reality mother didn't seem like the right candidate.

Christine swiped her phone open with a thumb and shot off a quick text to one Meg Giry, her long-time friend and former classmate.

 _Back in town tonight, M! Drinks tomorrow?_

Her plane was boarding, so she didn't have time to get a reply. It was the middle of the week – no doubt Meg was deep into practice at the Boston Ballet where she had easily picked up a role for the summer. Meg was a deeply talented ballerina and the envy of Christine who had two left feet. They used to joke that they should combine their powers a la Captain Planet and become a triple threat with beauty, dance, and singing. Though Meg had only heard Christine sing when drunk, she was convinced enough of Christine's hidden talent to bug her about it.

Unfortunately for Meg, after the past few days, Christine had no intention of singing again for a long, long time.

Christine sank back into her novel to distract herself from unpleasant thoughts. Her second flight passed by much quicker than her first trek that crossed the Atlantic. She dozed a bit and woke up to see downtown Boston stretched out to the right and the blue expanse of Boston Harbor on her left.

She had made it back to her home for the past six years. Goosebumps broke out across her arms, and she shuddered as the plane began to descend. There was something _final_ about seeing the familiar landscape spread beneath her. This was it. She was home.

As the plane taxied to the gate, she powered on her phone and found a message waiting for her from Meg.

 _OMG yessss! Pick u up at 8!_

She heaved a relieved sigh and sent off a quick "I landed!" text to her mom. The plane rolled to a stop, and passengers around her began to click off their seatbelts. She pulled her purse from the floor onto her lap, still holding her cell phone with one hand, staring at the list of recent contacts with a knot of dread forming in her stomach.

She hadn't bothered to check yet, but now that she looked, there was Nadir Khan's phone number. In her phone. Erik had even added the older man's moniker for her: _The Daroga_ , her phone said mockingly. Her fingers shaking slightly, she hovered above the button that would delete the number. She _should_ delete it, and then change her number, move to a different apartment, and be rid of them both for good.

Instead, she punched a short, angry message:

 _Back in Boston. Tell Erik I said hi._

She hit the back button three times and tried again.

 _Back in Boston. Tell Erik I said fuck you._

Back nine times, and this one she sent before she could change her mind.

 _Back in Boston. Tell Erik I said I don't play guessing games with bookmarks._

Christine shoved her cell phone into her purse and slid into line to shuffle her way off the plane with everyone else. Her heart thudded within her chest, and she wondered if she could ever make it be still again. Why was she opening up any channels of communication? She was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

After grabbing her suitcase, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of her apartment. By now, the last rays of sunshine were peaking out between high rise buildings. A whole day spent traveling. A whole day spent running away from what she couldn't seem to forget like she should.

She gave the cabbie a fist-full of the cash Nadir had given her, way too much, but she didn't want to keep any of it. She tucked away two twenties for drinks tomorrow night, deciding he owed her that at least. The cab pulled away, leaving her alone to drag her suitcase up the stairs to the third floor.

Heaving a sigh, she unlocked her apartment door and swung it open. It was dark, and she turned on all the lights she could reach, wanting to flood the place with light and chase away all of the shadows. She locked the door behind her, tossed her keys on the kitchen table, and kicked off her shoes. The walls of this old apartment were thick and drowned out the sounds of her neighbors.

The empty living room welcomed her back to her normal life. She couldn't stand the sight of it.

She needed a shower, immediately. She fetched her shower stuff from her suitcase and hastily placed everything where it went in the bathroom. Her clothes landed in a pile on the floor, ready for laundry tomorrow morning. The shower head sprayed water as hot as she could stand it, and she scrubbed her body, avoiding her scars, until it was pink.

She grabbed one of her father's old Hanes t-shirts from her drawer and slipped between her blankets. Her bed was at once both familiar and an odd foreign presence under her, the sheets soft cotton instead of silk, the smells all her own shampoo and soap and detergent rather than Erik's smoke and ink. She'd even managed to wash the scent of his home from her hair.

She bet her suitcase and its contents still smelled of him.

Oh, she missed him, she did. She had to admit it now, smothering in the dark as she turned off the lights. She knew she was alone in this apartment, knew no one waited for her when she got up in the morning. She _missed_ him and the morning tea he offered her even though she hated honey. She missed watching him read the newspaper in his favorite chair. She missed his long, pale fingers flying over the piano keys, his fingers clasping her ankle, his fingers around her fingers. She missed his face, deformity and all.

 _She missed him_ , but he had rejected her, and now she was utterly alone.

Christine pulled the covers to her chin and wept until sleep stopped her tears.

* * *

Waking up in her own bed left her disoriented until she got her feet under her and stumbled to the kitchen for coffee. At least that was one good thing about being back in her apartment – her fancy coffee maker. She went through the motions of making a cappuccino until she realized she didn't have milk. Because she'd been abroad for two months, of course. Black coffee was worse than tea. Maybe.

She prided herself on not throwing the coffee maker across the kitchen.

She'd slept in – it was already almost 10, and she needed to adjust herself back to normalcy as quickly as possible. The caramel iced coffee from the local place around the corner settled her thoughts. She perched on a stool and made a list of everything she needed to do that day.

1\. Coffee – check.

2\. Laundry.

3\. Grocery shopping.

4\. Lunch.

4\. Dust apartment.

5\. More coffee.

6\. Renew apartment lease.

7\. Look into grad schools. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do after finally graduating in December, but grad school seemed like a great way to help her put off getting a real job. She had enjoyed her internship as a stage hand, and stage management put her right in the thick of theater, which she loved. But her heart wasn't into it like it was performing. Her mother on the other hand would never let her hear the end of it if she went into something less practical.

So, grad school. An excellent diversion for another two or three years.

8\. Drinks with Meg.

9\. Go to bed without a panic attack.

Christine took a pain pill with her coffee. She wanted the smooth, calmly release of the drug today, and it would be out of her system by the time she rolled into the bar tonight. She added another point on her list, squeezed in-between 8 and 9.

8.5. Tell Meg. (She underlined this twice.)

9\. Go to bed without a panic attack.

10\. Delete Nadir's number.

She sat back, took a long sip of coffee, and let the caramel linger on her tongue. She had a plan now. She could do this.

Christine Daaé had it all under control.

For the next four hours, she blew through items 1-6 on her on list, washing not only her clothes from Paris but her sheets and towels too to get rid of the accumulated dust in her absence. She bought all of her favorite foods she had missed while in Europe and ordered her favorite Chinese take-out for lunch. Renewing her apartment lease was an easy as signing on a line while sipping her second coffee of the day. She had skipped dusting, not in any mood for cleaning.

She gathered her stack of mail from the main office on her way out from resigning her lease. A whole lot of junk, by the looks of it, pilfered with bills that needed paying. She would have to get a job to tide her over until grad school. Maybe the library was hiring again once the fall semester started? Or the campus coffee shop – that would be right up her alley.

Christine settled in front of her laptop and casually browsed grad school programs. She liked staying within a few hours' drive from her mother, close enough for monthly visits but far away so she could live her own life. She could try to stay at Boston University, of course, but a change of scene might do her some good.

Her list of colleges rested next to her computer. Did she even want to go to grad school? Undergrad had taken a lot longer than planned with her illness and subsequent surgeries and long recovery times. Was she up for at least two more years of school on top of the semester she still had left of undergrad?

Christine sighed and closed her laptop. Maybe she should skip down the list. It was way too early for drinks with Meg, but maybe she could go ahead with Number Ten.

She swiped open her phone's main screen and found the text she'd sent to Nadir yesterday. That had been so, so _stupid_. She really _should_ delete the number, delete the text, delete everything of him off of her phone and be done with it all. Then she would have no way of contacting the two of them ever again. She had no idea where Nadir lived, and she couldn't very well send a letter to Erik with the Palais Garnier's address on it. She could effectively be free of them both.

She tapped Nadir's moniker "the Daroga," clicked the Menu button, and found the option to Delete.

She held her thumb over the word. _Do it, Christine. And then block the number._

Or block the number first, and then delete it.

The familiar flush of panic rose inside her as her palms began to sweat and her breath quickened. After everything, she was still such a coward. Her phone went flying onto the couch behind her, and she face-planted onto her closed laptop as she tried to get herself under control. Maybe Meg would help her out later.

At that moment, her phone chimed that she'd received a text.

Oh good, that might be Meg now.

Christine fetched her phone. She was glad a moment later that she sat on the couch before checking the text because there was Nadir's name staring up at her. He had just replied to her text from yesterday. The words sounded like the old Persian: formal, polite.

 _I am happy you are safely back in Boston. I gave Erik your message. I'm afraid he only gave me one word in return: Faust. I hope that means more to you than it does to me. Best wishes to you._

Faust. Of course Erik had quoted a famous Parisian opera likely performed in the same place beneath which he called home.

She could still block the number and erase them both. It wasn't too late. She sat there for a while, considering her options, and instead of doing anything she should have done like a rational person, she fetched the book about opera from her nightstand and took the bookmark back to her laptop.

She read her translation of the two lines once again.

 _Deign only to listen one moment,_

 _what she is going to tell the stars_

Typing in the translation along with _Faust_ into Google earned her a translation of the full text and ten open bookmarks in her Internet browser that interpreted the scene.

She cursed Erik aloud. This was why she avoided opera – it was just too much.

Almost an hour later, she sat back from the laptop, deciding to take a long, very hot bath. She powered off her cell phone before she made any hasty replies to Nadir's text and headed to the bathroom. As she settled under the bubbles and stared at her toes, she sorted through the information in her head.

 _Faust_ was a Parisian opera from the late 19th century in which Faust and Marguerite had a whirl-wind romance that ended in tragedy. Christine thought it sounded like every other opera out there – too much over the top singing and drama for her tastes. The lines Erik had quoted were spoken not by Faust himself but by Méphistophélès, the demon to which Faust signs over his soul for the chance at love. Faust, discouraged by Marguerite's lack of attention, almost gives up until Méphistophélès encourages him to linger and listen to Marguerite's next words, which are declarations of love and the hope that Faust will return to her soon.

Christine sank beneath the bath water, holding her breath as long as she could. How dare _he_ talk about these kinds of feelings. How dare he suggest that he was waiting for some kind of declaration of affection from _her_.

Surging out of the bath, Christine quickly toweled off and stalked back to the living room where she had left her phone. Still dripping water on the carpet, she furiously punched a reply to Nadir.

 _Tell Erik that Faust was a coward who needed a devil to help him learn how to be a man. I expected more of HIM. Best wishes to you too, Mr. Khan._

Her pulse was racing, but as she watched her text send off across the ocean to another phone a half-world away, she wished immediately that she could take it back. What could she gain by taunting Erik? She doubted his two lines were meant to piss her off.

She fired off a text to Meg: _Get dinner before pls?_

It was not a great idea for her to be alone right now. She obviously lacked self-control where that man was concerned. She was back in Boston, an ocean away from him. She needed to cut all ties, and Meg would be the one to help her see reason.

Christine got dressed, choosing some black leggings and a long, flowy silver tank top with her jean jacket on top in case it got chilly at night. She usually let her curly hair air dry, so she sprayed some light hold hair spray and tied back two strands to keep it out of her face. Halfway through applying her make-up, her phone vibrated with a text message.

She almost didn't want to look, but it was only Meg with a quick _Sure! C U soon!_

Christine finished her makeup with a nude lipstick and assessed herself in the mirror. The larger tank top helped to hide the somewhat unnatural shape of her bra. Her hair cascaded down her back – one of her best features, she knew. Her eyes, large, brown, and almond-shaped like her father's, were heavily rimmed with cat-eye eyeliner. She looked a little odd to herself; she hadn't worn much make-up during her time in Paris, certainly none while in the caves beneath the opera.

No matter what, her thoughts always went back to _him_.

Scowling at herself, she slipped on a pair of metallic flats, her ankle still not healed enough for anything more. She tucked a few belongings into a small clutch and grabbed her phone. By the time she made sure she had her keys, she heard Meg's friendly, rhythmic tap-tap on the door.

As she walked over, she swiped a thumb down on her phone's main screen and turned off the sound. Even though the hour was late in Paris, she didn't want any surprise texts while she was trying to have a good night out.

Christine put on her best grin and opened the door to reveal a blonde, pixie-like girl in skinny jeans and platform heels. Meg squealed and threw her arms around Christine's neck, hugging her tightly.

"Girl, it's _so_ good to see you!"

Christine hugged her back. A dose of Meg's bright enthusiasm was just what she needed. The two had been super close ever since they both stumbled into an audition together years ago – Meg for a dance part and Christine for stagehand. "I'm so glad to be home."

Meg stepped back, giving her an arm-length appraisal. "Paris was good to your figure! You've put on weight."

Christine laughed, knowing it was a compliment. Chemo hadn't been kind, and Meg had seen her through all those rough years. "All those baguettes, I guess."

"Something's wrong, though. What's wrong?"

Oh Meg, always so observant. Christine could tell her own smile was forced around the edges. "I can't hide anything from you. Come on, I'll explain on the way."

"Lolita's?"

"God, yes. I need a taco and tequila shot _stat_."

Meg cackled and led the way to her car. "Your wish is my command."

As they pulled out of the apartment complex, Christine gave her friend a once-over. "You've obviously had a great summer, based on that tan."

"Six weeks in Key West. I had to party it up before I start conditioning for my first role in the fall."

Christine knew Meg was moving to France in mere weeks. She didn't want to think about being left behind. But she was happy for her friend. Meg had worked her ass off since she was little. She deserved the part with Parisian Ballet Company, and she'd be happier once she was reunited with her mother, a dance instructor native to France.

"But there's plenty of time to tell you all about my fun. What's up with you? I won't let you get away with not telling me."

Christine tried to laugh but couldn't. A dose of Meg was just what she needed. She wasn't sure if her carefree friend would understand everything about her last week in Paris, so she would have to be careful with what she revealed. How could Meg even _believe_ her. A masked man living beneath the Paris opera? Insane!

"I met someone," Christine began, "in Paris."

"Oh no, not _boy_ troubles! Though I have to say, it's about time you had some boy drama of your own."

"He's definitely not a boy, Meg. He's older." How much older, Christine wasn't sure, but she could guess Erik was in his thirties, at least. Nadir had mentioned how long he had known the other man, so maybe even older. "Forty, maybe? Late thirties?"

Meg cut her a glance as she drove. "You had some fun of your own this summer, didn't you?"

Christine frowned. "Please don't joke, Meg, not right now. I'm really upset about all of this. Things didn't end well before I left."

"All right, I'll cut you some slack. Is that why you came back early?"

"Yeah."

Meg turned off the radio. "We have twenty minutes until we reach Lolita's. Spill all the details."

She wouldn't, but she'd say what she could. Christine spun a story about how she'd met Erik while working at the opera house. She'd gotten hurt, and he'd helped her, taken care of her while she couldn't walk. She told mostly the truth but left out some details about Erik's mask and where he lived, as well as Erik's former life in Persia. Christine was pretty sure Meg wouldn't forgive that, and she wanted an unbiased opinion of the situation.

When she finished, Meg's red-lipsticked mouth frowned. "So he bought you a ticket home after he found out about your cancer? That takes a special kind of asshole."

"I guess so," Christine admitted. "But in some weird way, he probably thinks he's protecting me."

"That doesn't make any sense, Christine. And why didn't he take you to the airport himself? You could've had a lovely goodbye with promises to meet up during the holidays or something. He had his _friend_ take you!"

Christine opened her mouth to protest, to say that maybe Erik has his reasons, but she swallowed down her retorts. Why was she so quick to defend him anyway? "You're right, of course," she said instead. She hadn't mentioned the bookmark note or her recent texts.

"Of course I'm right." Meg pulled into the Mexican restaurant. As they walked inside, Meg tucked her arm through Christine's with a grin. "Was he at least a good kisser?"

Christine felt her face grow hot. "You know I don't have much to compare him to. Those other guys were all horrible. Or drunk."

"Yeah, but did _you_ enjoy it?"

She could at least admit that. "Definitely."

"Then store the experience away as a moment of fun and move on, sister."

Wise advice from someone who had seen a revolving door of men for as long as Christine had known her. Meg was someone who knew _fun_.

Three chicken tacos and two shots of tequila later, Christine was beginning to think she could have some fun tonight too. Besides the occasional half glass of wine, she hadn't drunk much in the past two months, and the booze hit her hard. She was almost instantly loopy, and while the big grin on her face felt a little foreign, she actually felt like giving it.

Meg, who was better at holding her liquor, drove them a few miles down the road to the apartment of a guy she had met years ago in English Composition II. She'd tried to hook up with him, but he wasn't that interested, which was okay by Meg because he had cute friends.

Christine wasn't looking forward that much to seeing Raoul again. The last time they had hung out was during Spring Break, at a bonfire beach party, and he had tried to put his arm around her. Still sensitive about any kind of physical contact, she had shrugged him off and quite literally ran away. Into the ocean. In the dark. Raoul had dove into the waves after her and hauled out her sputtering, soaked self. She was so embarrassed, she hadn't talked to him since.

But Raoul was good for her ego. He was friendly with everyone, and no doubt he would give her a bit of attention. On top of that, Raoul was rich, and when they went out with him and his friends, he was usually willing to buy. He liked sharing because he was definitely a Nice Guy.

The bonus was that he was also blonde surfer-guy _hot_ , and Christine was in the mood for looking at something nice to distract her from the obvious.

The perfect white teeth smile he flashed when he opened his door to them helped even more. Yeah, maybe Raoul was just what she needed tonight.

* * *

Once a pack of Raoul's guy friends arrived, they all rode the T downtown and hit up the first bar. Christine knew she needed to pace herself, so she declined the first round and settled for a little shoulder dancing in her chair while the others toasted their drinks.

Predictably, it didn't take long for Raoul to side up to her and strike up conversation about how they had both spent their summers. At least she had plenty to talk about Paris without delving into the last week. She didn't spend much effort listening to Raoul go on about his own summer, something about a month-long sailing trip, but he didn't seem to notice. He kept the back and forth conversation going longer than she would have liked. Silence had always been commonplace down in Erik's home, but it had been the comfortable quiet of two people who didn't _need_ to talk to enjoy each other.

"Penny?"

She looked at Raoul's broad, tanned hand, so different from Erik's long, pale fingers, that he had placed on her shoulder. Hadn't he learned anything the last time? She blinked at him, willing herself to ignore the hand. It was pleasantly warm, so she tolerated it for now. "Penny?"

"For your thoughts." He smiled that perfect smile of his.

Ah. "Don't you mean euro?" She could play this game.

He laughed, totally threw back his blonde head and laughed. "Of course, I forget. Euro for your thoughts. I lost you for a second."

"Sorry. I just got back into the city yesterday. Not back on Eastern yet."

"I get you." He indicated the empty place in front of her. "How about a Dirty Steve? The best of both worlds."

Red Bull and vodka. Why not? And he would have to leave her alone for a while. She managed a smile. "Sure."

The DJ was playing the popular tune of the summer, and Christine tapped her foot along as she dug her cell phone out of her purse. She hadn't looked at it since she had muted it back at her own place two hours ago, but she wanted to look up who was singing this song.

She had four text messages, all sent in about ten-minute intervals starting about an hour after she had sent her own text. The last was time stamped for about five minutes ago.

 _Erik says Mes. gave Faust the gift of living the life he never had before. Forgive me, madame, he says more but I won't_

That text ended, obviously accidentally sent before finished. The next read, in a different tone:

 _Nadir is too modest. Can Faust be blamed for taking the opportunity given him? Opera is about unbrideled passion. – E_

The next one read:

 _The eb and flow of opera mimicks the nuiances of real life. Faust's life lacked meaning until he was able to finally do something about it._

Then, finally, sent in an obvious fit when he hadn't received a swift reply from her:

 _What MAN wouldn't sign over his SOUL?_

Christine glanced around her, but none of her group was paying attention to her. Meg chatted up one of Raoul's friends who already had his arm around her. If she told her friend what was going on, no doubt Meg would take her phone away from her. Christine almost called out to Meg, wanting the choice taken from her.

Instead, she replied: _Mes. is evil_. _Marg never would've loved Faust if she'd known._

She unmuted her phone and tucked it back into her purse. Then she headed back to the others to find Raoul. She needed that drink _now_.

Raoul was next in line, and she slid into a bar stool next to him. Just like she wanted, he flashed her another smile and drew her back into conversation.

Five minutes passed. Christine gulped down half of her drink and managed to keep from checking her phone, knowing she'd feel the vibration through her purse. Meg's laughter was a little too loud – she'd already had another drink, and now she was rallying everyone for a change of location to somewhere with more dancing.

Five minutes later, her phone buzzed. Finishing her drink, she chanced a quick look.

 _Can you blame Faust for seducing her with Mes.'s aid? He never would have stood a chance with Marg. as his true self. – E_

"Christine!" Meg called. "You ready to head to Guilt?"

"Yeah, I'm coming." As she followed everyone out of the bar, Christine fired off a reply.

 _Then he should've left her ALONE._

Guilt was abuzz with activity, and even though it wasn't even 11 o'clock yet, it was packed with young bodies gyrating to the music. The deep bass tones thrummed throughout Christine's body, encouraging her to move along.

Christine let herself be pulled into the crowd, pushing Erik to the back of her mind for a moment. Meg partied in front of her, her lithe dancer's body rocking with practiced precision, her arms thrown over her head, and her mouth laughing with joy. Her happiness was infectious even under the circumstances.

Someone bumped up behind Christine, and she caught sight of Raoul over her shoulder. He managed a sheepish grin, backing off, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. Why the hell not? She felt the rough calluses on his hands from his time on the sailboat, so different from Erik's smooth fingers protected from his gloves.

They danced, _she_ danced between her two friends, for so long that by the time she stumbled off the dance floor begging for another drink for her parched throat, Christine had almost forgotten why she was upset.

That is, until she clicked on her phone to check the time. It was almost midnight. She noticed that just before a text message took up her screen. Erik's reply was long, sent compulsively over the spread of time since she had sent her last reply.

 _A man who has not known the affection of a woman would yearn for it, crave it, with all of his being. Is that not what Faust did? Is that not why he signed his soul over to the devil in exchange for a chance at happiness?_

 _True, he abandoned Marguerite when she was at her most vulnerable, no doubt because he panicked at what he had done to her. His reasoning is lost without the opera guiding us in that matter._

 _However, Faust was selfish. He took what he wanted without consideration of Marguerite. I could never have done that to you, no matter how much I might have joined Faust in signing over my soul._

 _Perhaps this is why you are so stubborn in your insistence that you do not like opera, Christine?_

She punched a reply, her heart pounding. _You should give Nadir back his phone_.

Erik's reply was immediate. _Too late for that. He has already given up and gone abed. As you should as well?_

The bastard wasn't even trying to talk about opera anymore. She couldn't believe it. Erik was an ocean away texting back and forth with her as though they were friends – or more – who did this regularly, as though they were two normal people just having a chat.

Her head felt light, her vision swimming with the swirl of bodies on the dance floor. Her head throbbed in time with the music. She'd had too much alcohol to reign herself in tonight. Meg was beside her, her sweaty face concerned.

"Christine?"

"I need air." Christine pushed away from the bar, hurried around the dance floor, and all but threw herself out the front door. The summer night breeze hit her face in a swirl of humidity and warmth with a slight hint of sea saltiness. The buzzing in her ears eased, but the pounding in her chest didn't lessen. The sidewalk was crowded, and she tucked herself into a space a few yards from the entrance to Guilt.

Christine glared down at her phone, at Nadir's name. In a moment of insanity, she tapped the little phone icon next to his number.

The phone began to ring.

It rang once, twice, three times, each tone seeming to go forever. After the fourth, she heard a click, followed by the rasp of someone inhaling to speak.

"My dear?" came the silky smooth voice from her dreams and nightmares, sliding over her skin as though he belonged there.

She didn't bother saying hello. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to squeeze out her first words. "Don't call me that. You have no _right_."

A pause, then: "My affection for you has not lessened, but very well. How can I be of service?"

"I need you to leave me alone."

"You called _me_." She didn't mistake the note in his voice for anything but smugness.

She found more strength in her anger. "To tell you to back off, Erik. You can't keep sending me messages like this, all night long like that's even okay."

His voice was merciless. "I believe you opened the channel first."

"Who _cares_ , Erik? Now you have to stop. I'm calling now to tell you to _stop_. Leave me alone. I'm home now, and I've got to move on and live my life."

"If that is what you want."

She hated the sudden flush of hotness in her eyes. She was so done crying over him! "You can't do this to me, Erik. You can't put all the blame on me. You sent me away. _You_ made that choice."

"I know," he said softly. "In my haste, I made a mistake."

 _What?_

Christine heard Meg's voice call her name. She had followed Christine out of the club, and Christine caught sight of Raoul's shaggy blonde head behind her.

"There you are, Christine!" Raoul said as they caught up to her. He hugged her before she had a chance to realize how close he had gotten, and he spoke too close to her phone. "We were looking everywhere for you. Come dance with me some more. I requested the next song for you!"

Christine heard Erik speak, and a new darkness lurked in his tone. "Who is that?"

She waved off the pair, indicating she was following them, but Raoul didn't budge. "None of your business."

Raoul must have heard the frantic edge to her words. "What's wrong, Christine? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, well aware that Erik was listening in. "I just need another minute."

Raoul put his arms around her, not noticing that she tried to back out of them before he hugged her too tightly for her to break his hold politely. "I'm here for you, Chris." She could smell his last margarita, but she knew Nice Guy Raoul would never drink too much. "I missed you this summer. Come dance some more."

"I said I need just another minute." She put a hand on his chest to push him away, but he mistook her gesture for a caress and dipped his head to kiss her cheek.

"Come on, Chris."

"Christine," Erik's voice was steel. "Are you safe?"

"Yes," she bit out, meaning the reply to be to the man on the phone. "Stop that, please! I need a _minute_!" That was for Raoul, but she was getting confused trying to have two conversations at once.

"Are you alone with him?" Erik demanded. " _Who is there?_ "

Unfortunately, the man standing too close misinterpreted her reply. Raoul tightened his hold, and his ribs pressed uncomfortably against her chest.

Before she could stop herself, she cried out in pain and chased the sound with a frantic, "Get off me!"

"Christine!" Erik sounded much more urgent.

Wide-eyed, Raoul stumbled back from her, but she wasn't paying attention to him. She couldn't concentrate with Erik calling her name over and over, with Erik being so insistent that she pay attention to him. She was done with him, with this conversation, with _any_ conversation.

"I'm going," she said into the phone.

"Christine-"

"Goodbye, Erik."

She hung up. But she didn't just end the call, not just that, when he could so easily call back. She tapped Nadir's number, hit the Menu button, and blocked his number.

He could call her using a different phone of course. He had her number; it wouldn't end just by blocking Nadir's cell. Christine pressed her thumb on the power button and held it down until her phone turned off.

Tomorrow, she'd get a new number.

Until then… she looked at the blonde man standing next to her. She was a bit surprised he hadn't given up and left, but then, Raoul had always been more dependable than that. His apologies followed her back into the club, but she waved them off.

Meg was hovering near the entrance, twisting her ponytail in worry. "There you are – are you okay?"

Christine shook her head. "No. I want to go home."

"Let me go tell the others, and we'll go."

"You stay, Meg. I can catch the train back myself. Or take a cab." She was barely holding herself together.

Raoul stepped in. "I can take you home, Chris."

"I don't want to bother you."

"No bother," he assured her. "I'm done anyway." He looked at Meg. "You good?"

She waved a hand. "Oh yeah, totally." She gave Christine a fierce hug. "Call me next week. We'll do lunch."

"Totally."

Christine let Raoul escort her away from Guilt. After he had stuttered out some apologies, which she quickly accepted, they didn't say much while they rode the train back to his place so he could pick up his car. He kept his hands to himself like a gentleman, flashing a smile of reassurance now and then. She had settled into a fog of one drink too many, and all she wanted to do was slip beneath her sheets and forget that phone call had ever happened.

Not once did she really think she wasn't safe with Raoul. When they got to his place, he didn't suggest she come inside for a bit, in a shady way of trying to get inside her pants. She'd had a guy do that before back her freshman year of college. Raoul grabbed his car keys and helped her inside his BMW, opening the door for her. He even reassured her that he hadn't drunk anything besides the one margarita at the club, and she believed him.

So when he pulled up outside her apartment and leaned in for a kiss, she was totally unprepared. What was it about men and thinking they could just take what they wanted from her? She was done being nice.

She didn't push him away, but the firm, unyielding line of her mouth deterred him from anything but a quick peck. His lips had been warm and soft. He was everything Erik wasn't, but she wanted no part of him.

"Thanks for the ride, Raoul," she said softly. "But I'm not interested in anything more than friends."

He couldn't hide the disappointment on his face. "I like you a lot, Christine. You're smart, funny, beautiful. Any guy would kill to be with you."

She barked a short laugh. "I can't be with anyone right now. I'm not in a good place." She opened her car door, intending to slip out on her own, but he followed her. No doubt he thought he was being chivalrous, walking her to her door.

"Hey, I get it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked incredibly cute with his blonde hair and blue eyes shining in the outside lights. "With your illness and all, you don't want the drama of a boyfriend."

She wished he didn't know – he was one of the few who did know at least the fact that she'd had cancer. She hadn't wanted to use _it_ as any excuse, and she could tell people's attitude and treatment of her changed whenever they found out. Raoul was giving her the soulful puppy look right now, full of sympathy. She hated it.

"I'm a patient man, Christine," he continued. "I can give you space, give you as much time as you need. You've got my number."

She unlocked the door to her apartment, but didn't open it, not wanting to give him any hints of invitation. Exhaustion weighted her down. "Thank you for taking me home, Raoul. Really."

He finally took the hint, and since she was pressing herself into the corner of her door and the adjoining wall, he didn't try to hug her. "Night, Chris."

She watched him leave, waited until she heard his car start up. Then she opened her door and locked it quickly behind her. Only then did she let herself start to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

**(My apologies for the wrong upload! I didn't mean to cause such distress. I'll be better about checking it over next time!)**

 **Thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews!**

 **Sweet Roisin Dubh: I'm so glad you like my Christine. So often she's a character who** ** _reacts_** **to Erik rather than taking her own action, so I hope to treat her well here! I do love a fully-masked Erik, but I prefer that version to lean more to a Leroux-type characterization with the speech patterns that come along with it. :) I'm not a huge fan of Gerald Butler's soft, too-pretty Erik, so mine is definitely much more musical based. Think Ben Lewis's imposing height and temper with Ramin Karimloo's voice. Swoon!**

 **After this chapter, the main plot starts to come out. I hope you all like this one!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

The next morning, Christine popped two ibuprofen with her first iced caramel macchiato and headed out the door. She hadn't turned on her phone since she shut it off last night, and she had no intention of doing so. She'd sent off a quick Facebook message to Meg and her mom, letting them know she was changing her phone number because she kept getting spam phone calls.

Her head beat to the sound of a hangover, but she didn't care. She was determined and nothing would deter her. Less than an hour later, she walked out of the store with not only a new number but the newest iPhone too. Bonus. And this type of phone didn't have a battery that could be removed. The asshole.

Christine's mood hadn't really improved after the few hours of sleep she'd gotten, but at least now she had a phone she could use.

She spent the rest of the morning fiddling with her new phone and making sure all of her apps were installed properly. She double-checked that Nadir's phone number was deleted but blocking him seemed to have taken care of that issue. All of the texts from him had to be wiped, but she'd taken care of that without looking at them.

A group text to everyone in her Contacts with her new number, and she was done. She threw herself back onto her bed and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. There was absolutely no way she could contact him now. She was done.

So why did she still feel like she was suffocating?

It took her thirty minutes to stuff a backpack of supplies and change into her bikini. She had managed to find one with a bit of padding, but the swimsuit did little to hide the evidence of the past two years. She just wouldn't bother taking off her cover-up, like she ever did anymore.

The beach and Christine were soul mates, of that she was certain. She had grown up on the shores of Connecticut, but really, any beach called her name. She had traveled up and down the east coast before her cancer, and even though she hadn't felt much like driving around the past two years, the nearby shores of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket had seen her often enough.

Colleges hadn't started back up yet, so the beaches were bound to be packed even on a weekday, but she didn't care.

Before her cab arrived, she grabbed a sandwich and cream soda and tucked it into a small cooler. She had her umbrella, her suntan lotion, her beach chair, and her sunglasses. She was set. As the cab dropped her off and she breathed in her first deep breath of salty sea air, she felt her muscles relax and her overall mood softened like the sand between her toes.

The rest of the day passed in a lazy haze of people-watching and dipping her feet in the waves as she looked for seashells. Erik entered her thoughts only once: the first time she dipped her toes into the water and looked out across the Atlantic Ocean, thinking for a quick moment about Europe on the other side of that vastness. She'd brushed the thought away and planted herself in the perfect spot. She even managed to finish the novel she'd started on the plane.

The sunset was brilliant, and everything she wanted.

As the last rays of sunlight drifted away, she hailed a cab and headed home, sun-kissed and ready for a long, cool bath to wash away the sand. Settling beneath the bubbles, she closed her eyes and mentally made a list of places to see about a job tomorrow.

She fell into bed with her hair still dripping and almost immediately fell asleep. She had no dreams that night nor over the next week, not even after she got a job at the campus library, not even after her last semester of classes began.

* * *

The days passed in a flurry of long weekend and evening hours at the library, as many as they would give her as they sorted through thousands of books and prepared for the upcoming semester. She slept in during the morning, often had lunch with Meg, and after a shift of moving heavy books around, fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.

She didn't think of Erik again, at least not much, until a few days into her coursework. The campus was littered with flyers posted everywhere, and one in particular caught her eye. It was calling for the public to buy tickets to the university's first opera showing of the fall/winter season: _Cosi Fan Tutte._

If Christine had taken a different path in school, she might be one of the ones performing opera on stage. Back in Paris, back under the opera house, standing in that underground living room, he had made her believe she had such a voice that could render an audience speechless. She didn't necessarily want to sing opera, but if she _wanted_ to, she could. They'd never been able to practice anything but her own pop selections, but he had made her feel like she could sing anything, especially with his instruction.

She hurried past the flyer to her class in lighting techniques for the stage. But the damage was already done. After almost two weeks of little thought of _him_ , her mind was flooded with memories.

It was Friday, and the library closed early, so after classes were done, she took the bus to Meg's for drinks. Christine stopped by her own place first to change into a green sundress that fell to her knees. It was a hot late August afternoon, the muggy air going hand-in-hand with the dark clouds overhead. Boston didn't often see rain, but when it did, it tended to pour for a few hours. Christine grabbed her umbrella just in case.

Already at 7, the party was in full swing, and Christine could hear the music blaring from the street. She waded through the full crowd until she found the petite blonde woman. Meg had always attracted a lot of friends with her wide smile and fun attitude.

Meg gave her a tight hug. "We're celebrating!"

"What's that?" Christine accepted the red cup Meg pushed into her hand and took a sip. Thank God it tasted like a margarita and not like one of Meg's more potent concoctions.

"I finally found an apartment!" Meg practically glowed.

 _That_ made Christine smile. "You did? Which one did you decide on?"

She listened as Meg spilled the details of a studio apartment only two blocks from the Parisian ballet company she had joined.

"Oh Meg, it sounds fantastic!" She hugged her friend again, this time with more enthusiasm. She was genuinely happy for Meg who worked hard to be so talented. Her mother, Mrs. Giry, had pushed her from a young age, and it showed. Christine had always known that Meg was destined for greatness.

"I leave a week from Wednesday, so I'm throwing a huge farewell party next Saturday. You'll come, of course?"

Christine laughed. "A bigger party than this one?"

"This is _nothing_!"

The two girls spent a bit more time chatting about Meg's future: how much she would make, what would be her first role. If she was being honest, Christine envied her more than a little. In contrast, Christine would be spending her fall semester shelving books in the library and taking classes in how to help _other_ people on the stage.

She stayed about an hour, but that was all she could tolerate of the noise. She just wasn't in the mood. Giving Meg a wave goodbye, she headed into the night to catch a bus back to her place.

She'd been right about the weather. A summer storm was brewing, maybe the last of the season before fall weather started to roll in. A brisk wind tried to pick up the edge of her skirt as she jumped onto the bus. By the time she reached her apartment, rain had started to fall, bringing with it a fierce line of thunder and lightning.

They rarely had dangerous storms in Boston, but the wind could be enough to shake up the old power lines around her building. She quickly ducked inside, but not before the few seconds she spent running down the block soaked her hair and shoulders as well as her sandaled feet. Her umbrella was useless in the wind, so she closed it to avoid having it close backwards on her. The storm ushered in colder night air, brisk against her bare legs, that made her teeth chatter.

Lighting flashed, helping to illuminate her way as she hurried inside her apartment, locking the door behind her just as the thunder made the ground rumble. She wasn't terrified of storms, but she wasn't a big fan either, especially since they usually made the power go out for at least a few minutes.

Christine kicked off her sandals, grabbed a kitchen towel, and gave herself a brisk toweling off before drying her feet. She had her air conditioning turned up too high and it made her shiver, not helping the fact that she was now freezing. She spun the dial to cut off the air, put on a pot of coffee, and headed into her bedroom for a change of clothes.

Two quick flashes of lightning illuminated her balcony. She tried not to look too closely. Outside always looked so eerie during a storm; she'd have to close the blinds on her way back to the kitchen.

She slipped into a t-shirt and a worn pair of gray pajama pants, hanging her nude-colored padded bra over the shower curtain rod to air dry. Thinking for a moment, she decided to go ahead and take out the two breast forms out of the bra so they could dry properly on their own. The little nipple buds on the shaped silicone still made her blush to see them out in the open. She set them on the sink to take care of them later.

She'd started going without the bra again in the privacy of her home. She could tell her scars were happier without the tight fabric always chafing. She needed to get another mastectomy bra soon, maybe something cuter, in black.

Musing on this, she started to make her way back to the kitchen. The lightning came faster now, a real lightning storm with the flashes mere seconds apart. As she passed by the balcony, she grabbed one of the curtains to pull it over the large sliding glass door. She saw her own reflection in the glass, her appearance disheveled from the wind and rain. Her hair was wild about her face.

But beyond the glass, she caught sight of a bone white mask, stark against the dark backdrop of the night.

Her scream was swallowed up by the next crack of thunder.

She should have run away from the balcony. Really, she should have grabbed her cell phone as she ran away and called the police as she did. He might have caught her anyway, but at least she would've done something smart for a change. She could even have started screaming again – if she did it enough, someone might come to see what was wrong.

But she didn't do any of that.

Instead, she took a few steps forward and unlocked the balcony door under the sharp gaze of two glowing yellow eyes. She turned her back on him and walked over to the coffee pot, which had finished brewing her cup. She mixed in a tablespoon of sugar, added her favorite caramel creamer, and took a long, slow sip. She'd made it too sweet by mistake.

While she did this, doing her best to keep her movements calmer than she felt, she heard the balcony door slide open. The storm blew into the living room, knocking over the vase of fake flowers on her small dining table, until the door slid shut.

She set down her coffee, trying to motivate herself to turn around. When she held her own harsh breathing for a moment, she could hear him breathing along with her, the sound a quick pant not unlike her own. Besides that, he was silent, no doubt dripping all over her kitchen floor.

 _How dare he come here!_ She spun around, intending to say just that, but she choked back her shout.

Erik stood in her tiny dining room, clad head-to-toe in his usual black regalia, including gloves and his wide-brimmed felt hat. He was soaked, who knew how long he had waited there, the roof of the balcony providing little shelter against the blowing rain. And though he loomed, a silent, tall, black existence in her small apartment, his arms were folded against his body, his shoulders curled forward. His cloak, dripping rainwater, made him appear larger than she knew he was.

She couldn't see much of his face, hidden as it was behind the mask or in shadow from his hat. His eyes no longer glowed in the brighter light of her kitchen, but they remained trained on her. His lips parted to whisper one word:

"Christine."

While she stared, he rocked on his feet, his body swaying. She thought he might topple forward onto the table, but he crumpled down, his knees hitting the linoleum in a sickening crack of bone. His black-gloved hands spread across the floor as he struggled to remain upright.

He was everything she remembered, and he was _here_ , in her kitchen.

She had never been so set ablaze with rage.

She strode to stand in front of him. She was well aware of the way his piercing gaze watched her bare feet move across the floor before swiveling up to roam over her face. In one quick motion, she tore off his hat so she could better see his face. He didn't move to stop her; he didn't move at all, except his eyes. She tossed the heavy hat onto the table behind her where it landed with a wet plop.

"How _dare_ you come here," she hissed, finding her voice. "I spent all of this time trying to forget you, and you show up like you can just _do_ that to me."

"You are safe," he breathed like he hadn't heard her. "You are _safe_." His hands shook as he placed them on his thighs and sat back on his heels. Even while kneeling, he was still so tall.

"Of course I'm safe," she snapped. "Why wouldn't I be safe? I'd probably be a lot safer if you weren't here now!" She wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt her, when he had stripped away her secrets by reading her medical files and then forced her to get on that plane.

Her hand reached forward of its own accord, and her fingers dug into his mask. She expected a flinch, something from him to acknowledge what she was about to do, but he gave her nothing. His eyes still journeyed over her, focused on collecting whatever he sought. Her fingers pulled the mask free, separating it from his face with some effort as though the two were stuck together. He didn't show any pain, even as she revealed numerous sores on his ruined skin, and he still didn't flinch when she didn't stop there.

She wanted all of it, and she tore off the wig as well. Both wig and mask fell to the floor at her feet.

His long, pale fingers moved to clutch the front of his own clothing, over his chest. His gruesome face was twisted with some unfathomable emotion.

"I had to know you were safe, Christine," he said, still in that hoarse whisper. "I had to, don't you see? I had no other way of knowing except to come here."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

His words tumbled forth. "When we spoke, and you argued with someone, a boy, a man, I did not know. You sounded so upset. Your voice haunted me for days, and I tried to call back, Christine, I tried to contact you. I had no choice but to see you safe." His eyes found hers, and she found desperation in them, but also something else… relief?

She let herself take in the full view of him. He was filthy head to toe, his clothing stained, a tear across the arm of his coat. He stank of sweat and animal, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what else. He was obviously exhausted, his body trembling, and his poor voice lacked its usual silkiness.

How had he gotten here? He couldn't have taken a plane. Had he taken a boat, then? How long would it take someone to sail across the ocean? He must have left right after that phone call to make it here as quick as he could. Her thoughts spun.

He had traveled across the ocean… to make sure she was safe?

And here she had taken away his defenses, betrayed his body the way he had betrayed her. She knew she had winced when she revealed his deformities; her memory had diminished just how horrible he truly looked. She'd done the one thing she thought would hurt him the most, and he had _let her_.

The anger drained away, leaving behind a thick blanket of… something. Compassion? Damn her and her own weakness.

"I'm safe, Erik," she said softly. She took a step closer, between his knees. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head against her own body, tucking his face against her in a way she hoped was comforting. He shuddered, and though he didn't return the embrace, he turned so the scarred half his face was hidden between them. She was sure he could hear the fast-paced beating of her heart. She smoothed one palm over his sparsely-haired scalp, still soft despite the grim.

"I should go," he mumbled and began to rise. "You are well, this I can see. I am glad you are so well, and now I shall take my leave."

"What?" She grasped both of his arms as he straightened. "You can't be serious. You can barely stand up!"

He had to grab onto the table to remain upright, proving her right. He kept the ruined part of his face turned away from her, though he didn't try to put his mask back on. "A moment is all I need."

"Erik, it's still raining outside. You've already traveled a really long way to get here. Please, stay a while, get your strength back first. That's all I ask." She ducked around so he would meet her eyes. "Please?"

"I…" He searched her face. "I will do as you ask."

"Thank you." She gave his arms a squeeze, then shouldered her way under one of them for support. "Now, let's get you in some dry clothes. Bathroom is this way." Briefly, she thought about how free she was being with him. When had she been allowed to manhandle him without protest? Either he was still relieved to find her unharmed or he was just too tired to protest.

Honestly, he was scaring her. She'd never seen him in this state before.

When she moved forward, he followed her with a slow, shuffling pace, letting her keep at his side. She kicked open the door with her foot and went to help him inside, but he suddenly didn't budge.

"Erik, what-" She followed his line of sight and immediately noticed what he had seen plain as day in the bathroom.

Her bra, hanging at his eye-level, and the two realistic looking breasts sitting on the sink.

With a cry, she left him at the entryway and darted over to grab the items and wrap them up in one of her towels. Her face burned. She was well aware now of the fact that she didn't have on her bra, that he had just had his face pressed against the edge of her very flat chest.

She couldn't meet his eyes, but he gazed at her evenly. "Your secrets are your own," he said quietly. "I have no right to them."

Was that some kind of apology? She nodded and hurried past him to place the hidden items on her bed. Her tank top was too thin, too revealing. She swung on her bathrobe and tied it firmly around her waist. Then she began to pull out various things for him.

"Please use what you need. Here's an unopened toothbrush, and toothpaste is on the sink. Towels are in the closet here."

He dipped his bare head, his body stooped in weariness. "More than enough. My thanks."

"I'll leave you to it, then." She stepped out, closing the door behind her. A few seconds later, she heard the shower turn on.

Christine rushed off to get him a change of clothes. She didn't have much that would fit his tall frame, but she knew she had kept some of her father's clothes. Her father hadn't been a large man, but maybe something would work. When her mother had started throwing out his stuff, Christine had grabbed an armful and ran off. It was all stowed away in her bottom drawer, and she would admit to wearing some of it occasionally, especially for sleeping.

She found a worn pair of men's pajama pants in a faded blue and a plain white Hanes t-shirt. No underwear or socks, but Erik would have to deal for now.

She arrived back at the bathroom and knocked. "Erik, I brought some clothes. I'm sorry they suck." He didn't give an answer, and fearing for him, she cracked open the door a little to peer inside.

He had already removed his cloak and suit jacket. He was faced away from her, bent over as he adjusted the temperature of the water. When he straightened, he slid off his unbuttoned shirt, and she caught a full glimpse of his bare back. He was all lean muscle and pale skin, and his back was laced in criss-crossing, silvery scars. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp at the sight. He hadn't heard her over the roar of the shower, so she closed the door as silently as she could and knocked again, louder.

"Erik, I'm leaving clothes for you right outside the door. I'm going to run to the store to get you some other things to wear and to stock up on some food, okay? I'll be back in less than an hour."

He didn't reply, but she hadn't expected one. She quickly changed into regular clothes, another sundress, including putting her still damp bra back on.

Before she left, she fetched his belongings from the kitchen. His hat had left a large wet ring on her table, so she picked it up and put it on the coat rack near the front door. His wig looked like a dead animal on the floor, and the smell wasn't much better. It would need a good cleaning, but she'd leave that to him. She smoothed it out and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

She picked up his mask. She had held the article several times before, and the heavy weight of it always marveled her. Even though the porcelain was lined in soft fabric, she couldn't imagine it was comfortable to wear for long periods of time. The inside was stained with sweat and brown and red patches she was sure were blood. She rinsed it out in the kitchen sink, using a little Dawn soap to rub out most of the stains. Then she blotted it dry and set it on the table where he was sure to see it.

That done, she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed into the rain.

At least the thunderstorm had passed, leaving behind a steady, drenching rain. Target was only a ten minute walk away, but she wasn't about to do that in this weather. She hopped a bus that dropped her off at the front of the store and hurried inside. There were probably other stores nearby by that sold much nicer men's clothing, but she was already going to have to put this on her credit card. Her savings had been depleted by her Parisian excursion to almost nothing, and while her loans had gone through easily enough, she hadn't received a reimbursement check yet. Target would have to do.

As is, she bought him the nicest clothing Target had to offer. There weren't any black shirts, but she picked out one dark gray and one white, as she had only seen him wear white dress shirts under his suit coats. She had to guess at the size; even if she'd gotten a closer look at his own clothing, she doubted he wore anything but tailored clothes. A large in shirts? Despite his leanness, he had broad shoulders and an impressive height, so large it was. He had a trim waist as far as she could tell from the few times she'd put her arms around him, so she got one size 32 and one size 34 pants, figuring one should fit and she could exchange the other. A male employee helped her with the length.

She picked up a pack of black men's dress socks, and, after hesitating and passing the section by twice, she also chose a pack of black underwear, boxer briefs. Who knew what kind of underwear the man liked, if he even _wore_ underwear, and that was as much as she let herself think on the subject before burying the item in her cart.

She also selected a few toiletries in more manly scents, including a body wash that reminded her of him.

It was all very domestic of her. She briefly felt like a woman buying items for her boyfriend, or husband, instead of a young girl buying stuff for her emotionally-stunted former assassin turned underground musical genius.

She'd already spent too much time staring at labels. She hurried through the grocery aisles, selecting some easy items that he might like: fruits, cheese, crusty bread, as well as ingredients for a chicken stew she could make at some point. Good lord, would he even stick around past tonight? She added eggs and a couple vegetables just in case, remembering she had to carry all of this onto the bus. At the last moment, she grabbed some tea. She didn't own a teapot, so he'd have to boil water on his own.

For all she knew, he'd been gone when she returned.

That thought added some quickness to her step. She piled everything onto her credit card, trying not to pay much attention to the amount, and caught the bus back to her apartment. Target had been pretty empty and about to close, and a peek at her phone told her it was almost 10 at night.

Adrenalin had been powering her through her little shopping excursion, but as she hauled it all upstairs, she felt the drag of a long day on her limbs. Would Erik still be there? What would he be doing after all this time? It had taken her almost an hour like she'd thought it would.

She'd locked the door behind her as she left, so she keyed it open and hauled in the bags. She opened her mouth to call Erik's name, but immediately snapped it shut.

Erik was stretched out on her couch, his long, bare white feet hanging off the end.

Christine carefully set down the bags and shoved the cold items into the fridge before walking over to the couch. She had never, in the days she spent under the opera house, seen Erik either eat or sleep, but there he was, asleep, his long body taking up the length of her couch.

He wore the clothes she had laid out for him, her father's light blue pajama pants a little big and cinched at the waist, the t-shirt fitting a little tightly in the shoulders. She had never seen him look so… normal, like a normal man asleep on a couch, and the sight shocked her. One arm was thrown over his head in a carefree manner, the other folded over his chest that rose and fell with steady, slow breaths. She had never seen his bare arms before, the skin so pale and laden with more scars.

He seemed almost peaceful. He had donned his mask again but left off the wig, and the revealed part of his face was relaxed, his eyelashes long against his cheek.

She knelt beside him. She didn't want to wake him, but the sight before her fascinated her. A lock of his thin hair had fallen over his forehead, and she reached up to brush it back, the clean strands soft beneath her fingertips.

As soon as she touched him, his eyes shot open.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, he had leapt off the couch, throwing her to the floor, his knees a heavy weight across her legs. The wrist of the hand that had touched him was encircled in a painfully tight grip and pinned to the floor above her head. His other hand closed around her throat.

His eyes burned in the dim light. His cold fingers spasmed around her neck.

"Never touch me," he spat, his voice a foreign growl.

She clawed at that hand with her free one, trying to pry him off. "Erik!" she managed to choke out.

His fingers tightened. She bucked against him, finding him unmovable.

"It's me! Chri – Christine!"

"Christine?" The fury in his eyes began to fade, slowly being replaced with astonishment. "My Christine?"

The fingers around her throat relaxed further. "Yes, Erik. Your- your Christine."

She watched the rage turn to horror across his face. He shot away from her, back pressed against the couch. She coughed and rubbed at her neck. She'd seen that look in his eyes before when he had gone after Nadir Khan beneath the opera. She knew how close she'd come to death.

He swiped a shaky hand over his features. "I forgot where I was. Christine, did I…?"

"No, I'm okay." Already the pain in her wrist and neck were fading, but she'd likely have bruises in the morning. "It's my fault."

"No, never your fault, Christine. None of this has ever been your fault."

She didn't know what all he was referring to, but she let it go. She climbed off the floor and went back to unpacking the groceries, aware that he had followed her to the kitchen. The bit of sleep seemed to have done him some good; he was steadier on his feet. She was still unnerved to see him so under clothed. Maybe she should have bought him some slippers.

The cool touch of his fingers startled her, and she jerked back. He gently took the bag from her, murmuring a "let me" before setting it on the table and unpacking the contents.

"I bought some clothes for you," she said, gesturing at the items. "I had to guess at your size, but hopefully something will fit until I can get your own clothes dry-cleaned."

"My dear-"

"I hope they're okay. I didn't have a lot to choose from, and _shoot_ , I should have gotten you some different pajamas to wear. Those you have on are a little old, but it's all I had that would fit."

" _Christine_." He turned and reached for her, and it was all she could do not to flinch away. She could tell where he wanted to look, and she let him lift her hair away from her neck. He didn't even touch her skin, but the cool, gentle touch on the underside her hair made her shiver. His eyes traveled over the marks that still ached.

"Don't worry about it," she said, moving away from him.

"How can I not worry? A twist of my hands and…" He left the heavy truth hanging in the air.

She shrugged and tried out a small smile. "I shouldn't have startled you like that, especially when I know at least some of your history." She pushed the bag of clothes at him, wanting to change the subject. She didn't want to linger on the reality of what he had been, of how _dangerous_ he could still be. "What do you think?"

He fingered one of the shirts, his eyes soft. "Thank you for the kindness. This is more than you should have done for me."

"Nonsense, I'm happy to do it."

"Even so, I will seek to repay you when I can. You have no reason to treat me like you are."

She bit out a harsh laugh. "What? Ripping off your mask? That was mean of me. I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh yes, _that_." A bit of his usual sneer returned, but he quickly snuffed it out. "I cannot blame you for that. My expectations were very low. After I found you safe, I expected more anger from you, more bitterness perhaps, not this kindness. Ah, Christine, always so kind." The corner of his exposed mouth turned up, and he took a step toward her, one hand outstretched. His fingers moved to again brush a tendril of curly hair that had fallen over her shoulder.

Not this time. She took another step back out his reach and watched as his arm fell. "I _was_ mad at you – I still kinda am. But you're here now, and, well, I don't mind so much." She took a deep breath. "Now that you're here, I'm glad you are."

"As am I."

They unpacked the rest of the groceries and the things she had bought for him in companionable silence. As they finished, she stifled a yawn that didn't go unnoticed.

"I have kept you awake too long," he said. He stood there, letting her take the lead into bedtime. This was her apartment, her space, and he seemed content to let her shape what they were doing. He had always been in charge in Paris, ordering her about. This was so different, and she wasn't sure how she felt about the change.

"It's been a long day," she said around another yawn. "I don't have to get up early, but I do have work tomorrow."

"Work?"

"At the university library." She went to a linen closet and pulled out her spare set of sheets and a fleece blanket, as well as an extra pillow and pillowcase. "Here, you can use these."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She felt a blush warm her cheeks. "I mean, assuming you're staying, the couch is yours to use."

"I may?" He was standing too close again, the thin fabric of the t-shirt pulling across his broad chest, his bare arms coming up to take the things from her. Did he realize how many of his scars she could see right now? He had turned off all the lights except one in the kitchen, so maybe he had been trying to hide the fact. Erik went over and set the blankets on the couch.

"I bought you clothes," she retorted, not wanting to play any games. "I think it's obvious that I'm expecting you to stay. You _are_ staying, aren't you?"

His back straightened, his yellow eyes piercing in the dim light. "I had no plans beyond this point, Christine. This is your home, and I will respect your wishes in all aspects. If you want me gone this very night, I will leave. If you want me to stay, then I will stay."

She whispered, staring down at her toes, "What do you want?"

"I wish to stay." One long finger curled under her chin and tilted her head back up. She hadn't even heard him move. "I am where I want to be."

She couldn't handle it anymore, the touches, the sound of his voice, less raspy than before, sliding over her skin. She backed away, bid him goodnight, and all but fled to her bedroom.

It was a supreme amount of self-control that kept her from automatically locking the door behind her.

* * *

 **He's back! Like I could keep them apart for long. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Imoriginalwooo: I've never abandoned a fic once I'm in this deep! I've got it mapped out, so I shouldn't be able to write myself into a hole.**

 **FantomPhan33: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! They were hilarious and very insightful.**

 **E.M.K.31: I tried to make Christine much more self-aware too! Of course, she's still only 24 years old, and she's been through some harsh stuff, and we'll see her not dealing very well after this upcoming chapter. Poor Christine!**

 **Historical facts come from Google and my nerdy husband. Let's roll with it. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Christine slept restlessly during the first part of the night. Her blankets felt too heavy, but when she kicked them off, she was too cold. Her pillow wouldn't change into anything but a lump under her head no matter how many times she beat it with her fist. She rolled onto her back and blew her curly hair out of her face with a puff of annoyed breath.

She was highly aware of the fact that she had left Erik hanging out in the living room, in her father's clothes and with a pile of her spare sheets. _Erik_ , the masked man she thought she would never see again, much less find him here in her own home. Erik, who had sent her away only to follow her here.

To make matters worse, her chest was aching with increasing discomfort. She had been able to avoid her usual Percocet for the better part of a week, but the ibuprofen was still necessary. Getting caught up in Erik's arrival, she had forgotten to take any. When had her last dose been? With lunch?

She rubbed down the center of her breastbone, but the pain was intensifying too much. Uncomfortable too much to sleep, she swung her legs out of bed, slipped on her robe, and headed to the door of her bedroom. When she pressed her ear to the door, she couldn't hear anything on the other side. However, she could tell at least a little light was on in the living room. Trying to be quiet, she cracked open her door and peered out.

Erik sat on one end of her couch, which was the only place to sit in her living room. The sheets and blanket lay folded neatly on the other end, untouched. He had one lamp turned on, and he was reading. He looked over at her when she came into the room, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"I hope the light did not wake you," he said.

She shook her head. "I was having trouble sleeping anyway."

As she came closer, she could see that he had changed into a set of clothes she had bought him, and she felt a warm flush of pleasure at that. He still wore his mask, and he had also replaced his wig. The thicker black hair was clean and combed neatly back. Overall, he was looking more like his normal self, though still a bit less formal without his suit coat or accessories. He had even donned a pair of black socks, and she spied his shoes sitting by the front door as they dried.

He closed the book he was reading, leaving one long finger inside to save his place. She noticed the title was one of her textbooks from a semester ago – a dry recount of the history of pulley systems for the stage. Not the best elective she had ever taken.

"A common problem?" he inquired.

"What?" She looked away, having been caught staring.

"Your insomnia."

"Not always. I'm just… hurting. I forgot to take any painkiller before going to bed." She made her way to the kitchen to find her bottle of prescription-strength ibuprofen. She popped two and chased them with a glass of water. "I was distracted earlier, you know."

"Ah." He tilted his head to the side, considering. "Is your pain expected to get better with time?"

It was an odd question, especially since they had never openly talked about what had happened to her. She knew, of course, that he had read her medical files, but that meant he only knew of her past from the perspective of her doctors and surgeons.

She was still pissed about all of _that_.

She made her way to the couch again and perched on the arm furthest away from him. She didn't trust herself any closer. "I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine."

His face darkened at that challenge. "Questions are treacherous territory, Christine."

"Only if you let them be," she said with a shrug. "Shouldn't you wait to hear my question before you panic first?"

"Ask it, then." His eyes glowed in warning.

Her heart skipped a bit at the sight of those golden depths. Damn him.

She cleared her throat. "Okay. How did you get here? I highly doubt you took a plane, especially if you left soon after we talked on the phone."

"How much of the truth do you want?" His response should have angered her, but she found it rather endearing. He was asking if she wanted to be protected from anything uncomfortable, and therefore giving her the choice.

"All of it," she answered honestly.

He shifted his body to face her more. "I cannot fly because I have no passport, no identification of any kind, in fact. I cannot travel in any of the typical ways one might. I couldn't take a passenger ship because I dared not involve Nadir in this; he would have taken steps to stop me. Therefore, I boarded a freight ship."

She frowned at that and rubbed one of her arms uncomfortably. "You mean a ship that carries goods? Supplies?"

"The same. They have small crews and plenty of shipping containers in which to hide." He lifted and dropped his broad shoulders in a shrug. "I have traveled this way before. I disembarked as the ship reached Boston's harbor. The rest was a walk to get here, but I was able to keep to the shadows."

No wonder he had been in such bad shape last night. He had gone through horrible conditions to get here, and yet he spoke of the experience as though the trip was something he would do again if he had to.

He had done it for her.

She pressed her thumbs against her eyes, the call of sleep starting to creep upon her. "How do you talk about this stuff so calmly?"

"Practice," he replied. "And my question?"

He had read her files, so why shouldn't she talk about it? But she always dreaded when someone found out – they acted so differently afterward. People couldn't handle when she talked openly about it, especially the aftermath of her surgery.

She sighed. "The pain should get better with time as I continue to heal, but it might always hurt, at least a little. The road to full recovery is long. Though I didn't lose my hair, chemotherapy was difficult, and my body didn't handle surgery well either." What had Erik said to her before she left? Oh yeah. She couldn't keep the bitterness away. "Don't worry. I'm not like you said, a _dying woman_."

To her satisfaction, he winced at that. "Christine-"

"I want to drop it, Erik, and go back to bed."

He looked like he wanted to continue the conversation, and she didn't think she could continue to be polite if he did. But then he acquiesced and turned back to his book. She took one last peek at his still form before she returned to her room.

* * *

Christine woke to the smell of something cooking – onions, peppers, and maybe a little ham? – mixed with the fresh scent of coffee. She tossed on her robe, finger-combed her wild hair, and headed out of her room.

Immediately, she noticed how dark it seemed in her apartment. It took her a moment to realize that all of her curtains were closed, including the thick blinds over her sliding glass balcony door. Besides her bedroom window for privacy, she never left them like that, preferring the openness of being able to look outside. Bright sunlight peaked through the edges, showing that today was going to be a beautiful day after the rain.

Erik stood in the kitchen, dressed the same as he'd been in the middle of the night except he had donned his shoes. He was stirring something on the stovetop with a spatula.

She looked at him and then the curtains. "It's rather dark in here, isn't it?"

"It is now," he replied coolly. "Did you sleep well after you went back to bed?"

"I did." She walked over to the kitchen. He stayed facing away from her, busying himself with whatever he was cooking. It smelled heavenly. "Can I open a window? Let in some light?"

"I would prefer you didn't."

"Why? Are you allergic to the sun?"

The temperature in the room seemed to shift, growing several degrees colder. Erik's turned back radiated a new tension. Christine realized she had just said something very, very wrong. Why had she come out being so flippant first thing in the morning?

Even with the curtains drawn, the light in her small apartment was somewhat bright, brighter than it had been last night. Erik had existed only in candlelight under the opera. She had never seen him aboveground during the day, and here, she had only seen him at nighttime. With his black clothes, he seemed to merge with the shadows, becoming one with the dark. The absence of light seemed to be a space in which he preferred to exist.

"I'm sorry," she said. She came to his side, but he still didn't look at her. "I was just making a joke. It was stupid."

There was no reply. A glance at what he was cooking showed her that he was making an omelet. Erik added freshly shredded cheese to the pan, then flipped the omelet in half before sliding it onto a waiting plate. He placed it on the kitchen table where he had set out one place setting.

"There is coffee as well," he said, his face carefully blank. "I did not know how you take it."

"I'll get it." She fixed herself a cup and brought it to the table. He gestured for her to sit. He didn't join her, and he had only made one omelet. "Do you want some too? Food or coffee? I can share."

"I had tea before you woke."

He probably didn't mean to hover, but he did, standing next to the table, a little too closely. Christine took a bite of the omelet; it was delicious, and she told him as much.

He seemed satisfied by that and started to wash the dirty dishes he had created. The sight of him, standing there in the black pants and light gray button-down she had bought him, a kitchen towel tossed over his shoulder, hands covered in soap suds, disturbed her. This reality was so different from the one she had known beneath the opera house.

She finished the omelet, famished after her lack of dinner last night, and waved him off to rinse off the plate and put it in the dishwasher. Taking her cup of coffee with her, she motioned to the couch. "Sit with me?"

He obliged. At some point, he had put the untouched sheets, blanket, and extra pillow away. Although he kept his movements slow, he walked easier this morning, his actions less labored. She wondered if he had slept anymore last night. He sat on the opposite end of her small couch, resting his hands on each of his thighs.

This was so weird, this moment. She curled her legs under her, sipping her coffee. There were a million things she wanted to say, and none of them seemed appropriate for right now. She decided to keep things mundane. "I have to go to work at 11 at the library. It's an 8 hour shift, so I should be back around 7:30. I can bring back dinner too. Or we can cook here."

"As you like," he murmured.

"I'm sorry there's not much to entertain you here. I have books, but you found those. I have TV but only local channels. Cable is expensive." She gulped down more of her coffee, glad it had cooled.

"You want for money?" he asked, his revealed eyebrow arching.

She let out a small laugh. "Not really. I get by well enough, though. Hang on a second." She finished her coffee, put the cup in the dishwasher, and hurried to the bathroom. A moment later, she brought back a collection of items. She rejoined him on the couch, this time sitting a little closer.

When she reached for his mask, he sucked in a furious breath and caught her hand in one of his own, not causing her any pain, but firm enough to stop her.

His voice was dark, threatening. "I let you do that once before, but I will not yield today, Christine. Not now."

She kept her own breathing calm, her expression as open and pleasant as possible. "I saw your face last night. You have sores from wearing your mask too long."

"Not your concern." He didn't let go of her hand, keeping it encircled in his own.

"It _is_ my concern," she said softly. "Let me clean your wounds, Erik."

He studied her face, amber eyes searching for what, she didn't know. His grip loosened enough for her to slip her hand free. On his own, he reached up and slipped off his mask, revealing the hideous half of his face. She had never seen him in the daylight, and with the red lesions on his sharp cheekbone, distorted nose, and thin-skinned forehead, it was all she could do to look upon him calmly. She was sure her heart was pounding, but she ignored it.

Amazingly, her hands didn't shake as she dipped a cotton ball in the isopropyl alcohol. "This might sting. I'm sorry I don't have anything more appropriate."

He nodded, giving his assent, and she began to dab the soaked cotton ball onto the worse areas of his cheek. If it hurt, he gave no indication. His eyes, too close now, studied her as she worked, but she stayed focused on her task despite how aware she was of his proximity and attention. His hands, the fingers splayed over his thighs, flexed against the dark fabric. Maybe she _was_ hurting him?

She remembered something her father had done once when she had scraped her knee. The alcohol had burned horribly, so he had tried to help. She blew out a steady stream of breath onto Erik's cheek, trying to dry the solution and relieve the stinging.

He jerked, and his hands came up and grabbed her upper arms, holding her away from him. "You should leave, Christine."

"W-why?"

"I fear I my control is… looser than I would like right now. I might regret my next actions."

She swallowed thickly, glanced away, then met his glare evenly. "I haven't put any antibiotic ointment on yet."

"Leave it," he said, not letting go of her arms. His eyes roamed over her and landed on her neck. After a few seconds of staring, he shoved her backward and lunged off the couch, putting the length of the room between them. His uncovered face, with its twisted expression, was terrible in the harsh light of day.

She gave him some time to compose himself, not moving, not saying anything. She had touched him too much, pushed him too hard, exposed his face twice in less than 24 hours. No wonder he was now pacing like a caged animal. She rose slowly, setting aside the supplies, and held out his mask.

"You don't have to put this on for _me_ ," she said, keeping her voice low and even.

He paused, stared at her, eyes wide. At once he was in front of her, but he wasn't looking at the mask. He was looking at her neck, and when he lifted his hands to move aside her hair, she didn't move, letting him push aside her curls so he could get a better look. His long fingers were cool against her neck, the backs of them brushing against her skin.

"I hurt you."

"It'll fade," she said, meaning the bruises.

"Will it?" Was he still talking about her neck? Each of his hands rested under her hair, the long fingers encircling her neck without touching. One of those hands had come so close to strangling her only hours earlier, merely because she had startled him awake.

Oh yes, he was still the deadly man she had first met beneath the opera. None of that had changed here in the small living room of her very normal apartment. In fact, he was even more of an imposing force than before. He had proven that he could not leave her alone, that he would travel in horrendous ways, thousands of miles, just to capture one more glimpse of her. Despite the fact that she had told him repeatedly to leave her alone, he had done the opposite, tracking her down and invading her personal space, her private life.

Realizing all of these terrifying facts, she should have yelled at him to get out. She should have the moment she saw him on her balcony. She should _now_. He was still inspecting her neck, the slight pressure of his fingertips turning her neck this way and that so he could see all sides. She felt very exposed by his attention but oddly not afraid.

If she stepped away from him now, she would be confirming his own worst thoughts about himself.

This close, in the daylight, she could see his golden eyes weren't quite so alarmingly strange in color, the yellow flecks giving way to a hazel shade of green mixed with brown. She still held his mask. After another long moment, he dropped his hands and gently plucked the heavy white porcelain from her grasp. He ran a hand over the gruesome side of his face before replacing his mask, hiding himself from view once again.

She breathed a sigh not quite of relief that he had released her. She wasn't ready to be touched so much by him, not again. She had a horrible habit of losing her common sense where he was concerned. She did know what she wanted him to do next, and she wouldn't let him protest and be avoidant about it.

She fetched her cell phone from her bedroom and brought it to him. "Erik, you need to call Nadir."

He scoffed. "I would rather eat fire. Something I have done before, I might add. Burns more on the way up than down."

She was glad to hear him attempting to joke, but she wouldn't be deterred. She pressed the phone against his chest. "He's probably going out of his mind with worry. How long have you been gone, anyway?"

"Nine days," he whispered.

Dear god! "You _have_ to call him and let him know you're okay. He's your friend!"

"Hardly the word I would use." But he took the phone from her and punched in a number, not mentioning the fact that Nadir's number was no longer available in her phone. He'd probably quickly realized why.

They both waited as the phone rang a few times, and then the older man must have answered because Erik made a grimace.

"Ah, Daroga. You're still alive."

There was a long pause of silence, and then Nadir's voice rose up in a long string of angry shouts in a language Christine didn't recognize, something Middle Eastern. Persian? He went on and on yelling at Erik, and Erik stood there and took it, his mouth a firm line of held back annoyance.

When Nadir drew in a breath to continue, Erik sought the opportunity to interject. "Come now, Daroga. Be reasonable."

Nadir continued on his loud rant. Erik held the phone away from his ear.

"What's he saying?" Christine asked, unable to keep from wondering.

"Nothing I shall repeat for your innocent ears." Erik put his mouth back to the phone. "Enough, old man. You will destroy Christine's good opinion of you." He hit the speaker button, and Nadir's voice flowed through where Christine could hear, this time in English.

"She's there? Erik, where _are_ you?"

"Hi, Mr. Khan," Christine said. "I hope you're well." She still hadn't forgiven the Persian for prying into her medical files, but she at least understood why he had done it. _Erik_ was the one who had reacted so badly.

The anger in his tone softened. "I am better now that I hear your lovely voice." Erik scowled at that, and Christine waved him off.

"I'm sorry you had to worry so much, Mr. Khan. Erik is really sorry too. He would've contacted you sooner but I only now thought of it."

Both men snorted, and Christine thought they were fighting much like a father and son might fight, neither one wanting to fully break ties with each other but neither willing to back down. Of course, Erik _had_ tried to kill Nadir… and that didn't seem like the first time.

"Where are you, Erik?" Nadir asked again.

"Boston."

Nadir hesitated, then said in a weird manner. "Is… everything all right?"

"I'm fine," Christine said, knowing he was thinking the worst. "We're both fine."

Erik glanced at her, then focused on the phone. "I suppose I could have left you a note."

"At the very least," Nadir said. "I woke up and you were gone. I left you alone for a few days, but when I went to your home, and you had obviously not been there in a while, I feared the worst. I checked all of your usual spots, but you left no trace at all, Erik."

Erik sighed. He massaged his exposed temple with long fingers. "Not the first time I have vanished."

"No, but the first time after speaking with Miss Daaé. I did see the records you left on my phone, you know."

"So why not contact her? You could have found out her new number easily enough."

Christine shifted her weight from foot to foot, a bit uncomfortable that they were talking about her as though she couldn't hear them. Should she be listening to this?

Nadir was angry again. "I do value some privacy, Erik, despite how much you believe I don't. I tried to find you using other avenues first."

That caught Erik's attention. He straitened, staring at the phone with new interest. "Did you now?"

"What was I to think? I wondered if in your misery you had gone to pick a fight."

Erik waved a dismissive hand that Nadir couldn't see. "I am not so reckless."

"Aren't you?" Nadir paused, letting out a puff of breath. "In my search, I did discover some disturbing developments with… them. You are back on their radar for the first time in years. They know you've left Paris."

Erik swept up the phone from where he had laid it on the table between him and Christine. " _What?_ How could they _possibly_ know that? I left no trace anywhere. None, Nadir, not even on the ship. I made sure of this!"

"They must have set up surveillance somewhere. Maybe of you, maybe of me. I saw no warning of this, none at all in the usual circuits." Nadir hesitated, then said as politely as he could, "Is Miss Daaé still listening?"

Erik gave her an indescribable look, almost like he had forgotten she was there. Then he clicked the phone off speaker and held it back to his ear. He murmured something in Persian and strode to the other side of the room like he was trying to keep the conversation more private. Christine moved to sit on the couch and watched Erik pace around the small space, his free hand gesturing through the air.

Erik spoke nothing more in English, sometimes speaking in Persian, sometimes switching to his native French. Christine wondered how many languages he spoke. There was really little she knew about him beyond the snippets he and Nadir had revealed during the short time she had known each of them. Her masked companion was growing more agitated as the conversation went on.

Finally, he handed the phone back to her. "Nadir has questions," he snapped. He left her again and went to stand by the balcony door, peering outside between two shades.

"Hello, Mr. Khan," Christine said into the phone.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? About the past week?"

"Not at all."

Nadir proceeded, stopping just short of what felt like an interrogation. Christine got the feeling that he had done this before. He inquired about her movements since she had spoken to Erik on the phone – where she had gone, who she had spent time with, anyone she had seen that looked out of the ordinary. He asked who had her new phone number, and who knew about Erik, if anyone. Here she cut her eyes at the masked man who hadn't moved from his position, and she admitted she had told Meg at least a few details.

When he seemed satisfied, he asked her to return the phone to Erik.

"Of course I will do anything," he snapped. "I have everything I need with me. Tell me who is first." He listened for a while longer. "Yes, of course we can take care of business. Use the account in New York. No, not that one. Yes, _that_ one. Damn it, Daroga, what protocol are you following? Yes, get your head together, old man. The stakes are too high."

Nadir said something that caused Erik to pound a fist against the peeling plaster of her wall. Christine jumped. "Hurry up. The first flight to New York. Of course the _cost_ doesn't matter. Get on with it!" He hung up and set the phone on the table behind him before bracing an arm against the wall and pressing his forehead against it.

Christine didn't dare say anything or touch him. She stayed silent and still, waiting.

"Ah, Christine," Erik said at last, the sound of her name on his lips making her heart ache. "I fear what I have done by coming here."

"Is Nadir in trouble?" she asked.

"Not if he follows my directions. He does so often think he knows better."

She hesitated, then continued quietly, "Are _you_ in trouble?"

In response, he slid one hand inside his pants pocket and produced a length of red rope. She recognized the punjab immediately and sucked in a sharp breath. She was more than a little unnerved that he toted it around like he might his car keys. But he could take care of himself, then. Of course he could.

She thought about all the questions Nadir had asked her, about the possibility of being followed by strange people she didn't know.

"Okay, am _I_ in trouble?"

He turned around at that, tucking the punjab away, his eyes shining fiercely. "They will never touch one hair on your pretty head, my dear, for they would lose their life before they could even consider the thought."

Pretty? He thought her pretty? She flushed, looked away, then met his gaze again. "Who are they?"

Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. "Old accomplices of mine. I told you about my time in Persia, yes? Now called Iran. The Shah I worked for was not _the_ last Shah but rather a Persian lord with wealth to match his mother's sadism. Royalty had already collapsed by the time I entered the country, but out in the mountains, word took years to get around. When I finally had enough and wanted out, I took what I could carry and fled."

"But Nadir was captured."

"He was. He spent five years in prison before being released by the new anti-Shah regime and given a full pardon."

"But you weren't pardoned?"

"Hardly. I had killed the Shah and his mother, taken most of their wealth – both on my person and spread among overseas bank accounts – and contributed to the liquidation of their hierarchy. Their family still tries to hunt me down."

Erik had killed the Shah and his mother? This was something he hadn't admitted to her before, though she had known he had worked as an assassin. The thought of Erik killing anyone still made her dreadfully uncomfortable.

Christine thought for a moment, considering something Erik had once told her. "So what are the five countries that want you dead?"

He gave a grim smile. "Iran, of course, and its primary allies: Lebanon, Russia, Palestine. I have, at some point, also managed to anger Belarus."

"Belarus?" Christine echoed. She had never even heard of the country.

"Close trade relations with Iran. I once did my best to destroy the relationship between the two countries, but I was found out before I could do much besides take over some assets." He shrugged. "A beautiful country with terrible politics."

Christine wanted nothing more than to continue to talk about all of this, no matter how much the topic unnerved her. It was clear to her that Erik had lived a lifetime before she had met him, and she had only just scratched the surface of his experiences. Suddenly, she felt very young, very inexperienced. Did she really know anything at all?

"Christine?" Erik called. He stretched out a hand toward her, checked himself, and dropped it to his side. "I have frightened you."

"Yes," she admitted, wanting to be truthful. "Who wouldn't be afraid when hearing you talk about your past? It's all a bit much to take in."

He ran a hand over the exposed side of his face. "That it is."

Christine glanced at the clock on her oven. "Crap, I really have to get ready for work! I can't be late because I start when everyone else goes to lunch. Do you want me to get your clothes dry-cleaned while I'm out?"

He nodded, and she was aware of his gaze following her as she headed toward the bathroom. She made sure she grabbed her clothes for the day and took them with her so she wouldn't have to run back to her bedroom in nothing but her robe. While she took a quick shower, she pondered everything he had revealed to her. He seemed to be making more of an effort to open up to her, which certainly made her happy than if he was trying to hide it all.

He and Nadir had been so mysterious and vague about what was going on. Nadir had been so _pissed_ at first. Nadir thought Erik had been rash in his decision to trek across the Atlantic, but Erik had done it for her. He had endangered his life and stirred up his past… because he had been worried about _her_.

Christine dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a nice tank top with a cardigan because the library often got chilly. She combed her curly hair that she would let air-dry and put on a tiny bit of make-up. When she emerged from the bathroom, Erik was sitting back in his spot on the couch, now toward the end of his reading.

She hurriedly put on her flats and grabbed her purse and keys, as well as her phone. "Sorry I don't have a phone here at the apartment, but um, my laptop is right there. You can send me a Facebook message, and I'd get that on my cell." She felt weird explaining all of this to him – how much did he even know about computers? – but he only nodded. "You can eat and drink whatever you want. Please, whatever you need. I'll be home around 7:30, and I'll bring us something to eat since it'll be a bit late."

"That will be fine."

She stopped at the door. He had tucked his carefully folded dirty clothes into a bag, and she scooped them up. She gave him a long look. "I'm sorry I have to be gone for so long." Why did she feel guilty leaving him? He'd done the same to her every day she'd spent with him in Paris.

"Spare yourself, Christine. I have been alone most of my life. I will manage."

"Okay, then. Um, have a great day!" She all but threw herself out the door before he could reply, feeling utterly idiotic.

Would she ever feel comfortable around him? She spun between being so dreadfully uncomfortable and so utterly attracted to him that she often had no clue how to act. She hated the way her cheeks heated at every little thing he said, but she couldn't help it. His voice alone could raise goosebumps across her skin.

Christine shook her head and quickened her walk to the campus library after dropping off his laundry. She had no way of contacting Erik until she returned home, so she could at least lose herself among the books for a few hours.

* * *

 **Oh dear so much talking in this one. More action in the next, I promise. Things are about to get even crazier for Christine.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Oh, such lovely reviews! They make me very motivated to work steadily on this! I hope to keep a 3-4 day rotation on posting chapters, at least through the summer. This chapter was difficult to write - please let me know what you think!**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Christine's shift at the library passed by rather uneventfully. Since it was the first weekend after classes had started, not many college students were scrambling for research yet. Most inquiries were for computers or to check out tablets, and she didn't even have that many books to reshelf.

Her mother called at some point, but she didn't leave a message when Christine didn't answer. That wasn't very unusual. Anna called fairly regularly, usually to chat about nothing in particular. Christine thought maybe she'd try calling her back tomorrow, if she got a chance.

Oh, the library was boring without much to get done. Christine spent some time browsing the books herself. She couldn't spend a lot of time reading now that the schoolwork was bound to pile up, but maybe she could find something that would interest Erik. She thought about the types of book she had seen on his own bookshelf. He'd had all kinds of books, but he seemed to trend toward history.

She selected a couple about European history and a couple more about music, and for good measure, a few more about the history of music. She also spent some time thumbing through Pandora on her phone and setting up a few stations he might enjoy. She even added an opera station just for him. The thought made her smile.

Finally, the sun starting to set, her shift ended, and she stretched her limbs, a bit sore from sitting around all day. She piled the heavy books into her arms and headed out the door.

Last night, she had bought food to cook, but it was really too late for that. What would Erik eat anyway? She'd never seen any food touch his lips before. Maybe he would eat something plainer, like rice? She ducked into a Chinese take-out place she frequented and ordered a smorgasbord, adding a variety of dishes, including two different soups. Maybe there would be something he would like in the spread.

A little guiltily, she put it all on her credit card again. She probably still had a few more weeks before the bill would show up, and maybe she would get her loan check by then.

She'd had to wait a while for her order, and now it was already past 7:30, which is when she said she'd be home. She scooped up the books with one arm and threaded her other fingers through the two very full bags of food. Just five blocks to go.

As she pushed open the door with her hip, she suddenly felt the door swing wide. She almost lost her balance, and probably would have, if it wasn't for a warm, steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry about that," said a familiar male voice.

She turned around to see Raoul's friendly face stretch into a grin when he saw her. "Hi, Raoul."

"Chris!" He was so delighted to see her that she couldn't help but return his smile. "What a surprise! Though I guess it shouldn't be." He laughed freely and jutted a thumb at the restaurant. "Best lo mien noodles near campus, right?"

"Totally," she agreed. She set the bags down and flexed her fingers, which had already begun to ache. "I couldn't decide, so I had to get a little of everything."

He eyed her stash. "I'd say so."

He was so handsome, so _nice_ whenever she saw him. Even though she hadn't been that agreeable the last time she saw him, he still greeted her so warmly. She had no idea why he was still single. He had graduated a year ago and gotten a fantastic job designing the website for the university. Shouldn't he have scooped up his own perfect catch by now?

"How are you doing, Raoul?" She wanted to head back home to Erik, but she couldn't leave quickly without being impolite.

"Good, good. Work is amazing, and I love what I'm doing." He flipped his tie at her, again flashing that perfect white smile. "I'm still getting used to the uniform. You?"

"Good," she said. "My last semester of classes started up this week. I'm working at the library, which is boring, but a paycheck." She grabbed onto her bags again, signaling that she was ready to go. "It's good to see you again!"

"You too, you too." He made to move through the door he still held open, and he watched her struggle with carrying both her armful of books and the two large bags of Chinese food. "Hey, Chris, let me help you."

"I've got it. Really," she protested, but he had already taken the bags from her. The man was insistent with his chivalry. She would be annoyed if he wasn't so darn cute. "Aren't you hungry?"

He laughed. "The guys can wait. We're not doing anything but playing some dumb video games tonight anyway."

Christine had no idea how she was going to explain Erik, who didn't seem like the type to enjoy meeting random people. In fact, the meeting of these two could be downright deadly. Christine nervously thought about punjab she knew he kept in his pocket. Would Erik recognize the man he had heard on her phone? Erik didn't let many details past him, so probably so.

"Raoul," Christine weakly, "I really can carry my own food."

"Nonsense! Let me help you out. I won't even insist on going in." He was joking, but she felt nothing but relief. Maybe he would go before she even opened the door.

Well, at least there was that. They talked about nothing much in particular as they walked back to her apartment – her classes, his work, Meg's plans. He was looking to buy his first house and buy some stocks and felt like he was turning into his father.

They stopped in front of her door. Christine was nervous about Erik hearing Raoul's voice through the door, but now she didn't have much of a choice. She took the bags from him, giving him what she hoped was a natural smile.

"Thanks so much for the help! Will you be going to Meg's party next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Raoul said. Thankfully, he had already turned to go. He tossed her a wave and headed back down the stairs. "See you then, Chris!"

"Yeah." Once he had vanished, she breathed a sigh of relief and inserted her key into the lock.

It was almost 8 o'clock, and while there was still a little summer daylight left, she couldn't see much inside her apartment. All of the lights were off, and the curtains were still drawn like they had been when she left.

There was no sight of Erik.

She shouldered the door open and brought the bags of food inside, setting them and the books on the floor in the foyer. Her hands free, she closed the door behind her and quickly flipped on several lights, illuminating what was definitely an empty living room and kitchen.

"I'm home!" she called, thinking he must be in the bathroom.

She put the bags on the kitchen counter and headed across the room. She didn't have to get far before it was obvious that the bathroom was also empty. Turning on the light made that all the more apparent. She did the same in her bedroom, which was small enough that a quick glance told her all she needed to know.

Erik was not here.

Just in case, she checked the balcony as well, finding nothing there but her few half-dead plants and unused bicycle.

Where was he? Why had he left? There was nothing he had said at some point that would indicate he would need to go out today. It sounded like Nadir was getting on the first flight out of Paris, but there was no way he could have made it to the east coast so soon. Right?

That's when Christine realized she had forgotten to pick up Erik's clothes from the dry-cleaner. She had even spent extra to make sure they were done within the day. Maybe Erik would be back by the time she returned. She grabbed her purse and half-ran to the dry-cleaner, which had been moments away from closing.

The man behind the counter immediately knew who she was. "These clothes were filthy! I've never seen anything like it, lady. What did your husband do anyway? Fall into a vat of filth?"

Christine paid the outrageous fee with her credit card and grabbed the garment bag, her face burning. She didn't have time to feel embarrassed about things out of her control. She just wanted to get back home as quickly as possible.

When she walked in, it was obvious that Erik wasn't back. By now, the Chinese food had cooled. It was past 8 at this point, and her stomach was growling insistently. She hadn't had more than a coffee and a protein bar from the vending machine during her break. Maybe he wouldn't mind so much if she went ahead and ate. He hadn't even left her a note saying when he would be back, so she didn't feel that badly about it.

Christine made herself a plate and put the rest in the fridge. As she sat at her kitchen table and ate, she surveyed her empty apartment. Erik had put the book he had been reading back on the shelf and cleaned everything from breakfast this morning. When he had left, he had taken his hat and cloak, both of which had been hanging on her coat rack.

Besides the items she had bought him, he had left little trace that he had ever been here.

By the time she had eaten, cleaned her plate, and surfed the news on the Internet for a little while, it was 9 o'clock, and he still wasn't back. She briefly thought about calling Nadir, but it was 3 or 4 a.m. there, and she wouldn't wake him up to complain about the fact that Erik was gone. She settled onto the couch and flipped to a saved program on her DVR, some mind-numbing reality show that didn't take much thought.

She hadn't let herself worry too much until now. After all, Erik was a free man who could do as he wished. Based on how often he dipped out while she was at his underground home in Paris, he wasn't the type to sit around.

Two episodes later, and it was now pushing 10:45. She didn't have work tomorrow, but she didn't normally stay up late. Her eyelids felt the call of sleep, but how could she possibly sleep without knowing where he was?

Or if he was coming back. At all.

Christine turned off the TV. She grabbed two ibuprofen and took them to avoid another night of restless sleep. She left a light on in the kitchen, not wanting to be in complete darkness by herself. Having Erik here, even for less than a day, had been such a welcome change of pace. She had lived alone for the bulk of her time in college, minus a few months here and there when her mother had moved in to take care of her during the rough patches of recovery. Even though Erik had been quiet and so different from anyone she had ever known, she had been looking forward to having him here.

There, she could admit it. She had wanted him here.

And she thought he had wanted to be here too.

She got ready for bed, brushing her teeth and cleaning her face before changing into pajamas. She carefully tucked her bra away and immediately felt foolish for doing so. He wasn't here to accidentally see it, was he?

That was when she felt her bottom lip start to tremble. She crawled beneath her covers and pulled them to her chin, leaving her nightstand light on for now. She couldn't stand being alone in the dark. The light under her door had been a comforting presence all last night – _his_ light, that he had used to read.

When would she admit that he was definitely _gone_ , and not just for a little while? Maybe he had gone for good. He and Nadir had talked for a long time about whomever was looking for them, and Nadir had been flying into New York, hadn't he? Not Boston. Maybe Erik had gone to meet him in New York and just hadn't told her.

Because why would he bother to tell her? He had no reason to involve her in anything he did. He had taken the time to rest here, get back some strength, and now he could continue on with whatever business he had before heading back to Paris where he belonged. Christine was just a girl who had stupidly stumbled into his territory two weeks ago. At the first thought that she wasn't welcome around him, that she was a nuisance, he had sent her packing.

Her thoughts kept spinning, fueled by exhaustion. She couldn't help it. The tears began to spill over her cheeks, wetting her pillow and the side of her hair. _Had_ she been a nuisance the whole time? The kisses they had shared had made her think otherwise, but she had practically thrown herself at him. A man who hadn't been touched his whole life would take whatever was offered.

She was so confused, so heartbroken, but none of that mattered much, did it? Not if he wasn't _here_.

She stifled a sob against her pillow, felt her heart begin to race too fast, her breath starting to come out in uneven bursts. That was when she heard the door to her apartment open. Someone stepped in, and then the door closed with a turn of the lock.

Christine didn't stop to think that it might be someone other than who she wanted it to be. She bolted out of bed and threw open the door to her bedroom.

In the dim light coming from the kitchen, she saw Erik, bundled in his black cloak. He took off his hat and hung it on the coat rack as though it _belonged_ there, and raised his head to meet her wild stare.

She knew she must look a mess, her face wet, her nose running, because his eyes widened. "I… thought you would be asleep," he said. "Did I wake you?"

She couldn't push any words past the lump in her throat. She took a few steps out of her bedroom, the breadth of the couch between them. He was there. In her foyer. And now he was undoing his cloak at his throat, sweeping it from his shoulders with his usual grace and hanging it under his hat.

"Christine?"

Her hands were shaking as she came closer. "I didn't know if you were coming back."

"I had to step out," he said.

"Step out?"

He shifted from one foot to the other. "It took me longer than I thought it would; otherwise, I would have left a note."

She shook her head, feeling on the verge of a meltdown. "This isn't about a note. I didn't know if you were coming back. I didn't know if you were just _stepping out_ or if you had gone to New York or back to Paris, or if you were just gone for good."

"I would not leave like that." He watched her approach, his expression guarded. He looked so unsure, so confused by her reaction, and that made her feel even more hopeless. He probably thought she was just a little girl who had panic attacks over nothing.

Did she really have much to lose, then?

She reached him, her bare feet cold on the linoleum of the foyer. She clutched the front of his button-down shirt – the one she had bought him – with two fists. His arms flung out at his sides as though stunned by her actions. "Wouldn't you?" She shook her hands with her fierce words, and he backed up until his back hit the door, and she didn't care, following him. "Wouldn't you, Erik? Because how am I supposed to know that? How am I supposed to know you won't just leave?"

"Christine-"

"Why would I believe that? I have no reason to believe that! I have no reason to believe you."

His hands hovered in the air around her shoulders. She really thought he might shove her off, but he didn't. She tilted her face up, forcing him to meet her eyes. His own were indescribable, all white around the golden irises.

She took a shuddering breath, pressing onward. "You let _me_ leave like that. You chucked me off on Nadir and made me leave without saying goodbye. You didn't say a word to me, Erik, not a word! Not a goodbye, nothing. You didn't even look at me when I left. You didn't look up at me, you didn't say _anything_!"

She was sobbing again now, but she didn't care. She had stored up her despair for so long that she couldn't contain it anymore. Erik was unmovable beneath her hands, and if he didn't want to run away from her before, he surely would now. She pressed her face against his chest, between her two fists, and cried all of the heartache she hadn't let herself admit.

She was finding it difficult to speak now, difficult to even take a deeper breath. Her heart thundered loudly in her ears as the familiar numbness spread across her senses. Her legs buckled, unable to hold her up any longer. Suddenly, she felt pressure around her back and under her knees, and she had to close her eyes against the rush of motion that followed. She felt herself being lowered onto the couch, and when she opened her eyes again, Erik crouched in front of her.

He captured one of her hands and flattened the palm against his chest. His own heart beat wildly beneath her fingertips.

"Christine, breathe," he said, his voice low and melodic, sounding much calmer than his heart betrayed. "Breathe in and out. Listen to me, feel my own lungs fill with air. Breathe with me." And he began to take a deep breath, his chest expanding, and she tried to suck the air into her own mouth to match. Then he exhaled, his warm breath mingling with hers in a slow, steady rush. "That's it," he murmured. "Again." And they breathed together again, a third time, a fourth, and gradually, the dizziness faded and the ringing in her ears ceased.

She stared at her hand pressed against the wrinkled fabric of his gray shirt, and his two bare hands covering her own. One of his cool thumbs stroked over her knuckles while the other moved in soothing circles across the inside of her wrist. She should pull away. She wanted nothing more than to feel that touch forever.

She found her voice again. "I'm sorry."

"Stop it," he snapped with sudden anger. "What could you possibly have to apologize for? You, who have seen my face and stayed. Not only stayed, but _accepted_. You, who have given me life again when I thought I had already been buried."

Stunned, she said nothing.

He turned loose of her hand, and she clasped both of them in her lap to still their trembling. He didn't move away, however. "It was wrong of me, Christine, not to say goodbye. I owed you that at the very least."

"I didn't want to go," she whispered.

"I _had_ to send you away, don't you see that? I had no choice. Your ankle had healed enough, and when I learned of your illness, I knew I had to let you go."

Her next words were so hard to say, but she had to say them. She looked away, blinked through fresh tears. "Because of my surgery? My mastectomy?"

"Your-" He cut himself off, and she felt his fierce gaze roam over her, and she had never felt so exposed. "You think it was because of _that?"_

"Wasn't it?" God, she hated the way her voice cracked.

His cold hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away the wetness under her eyes. "I was so afraid you would die if you stayed there with me, in that darkness, in that cold tomb. I could not keep you. I could not do that to you."

She leaned into his touch. "I thought it was because of…" She couldn't bring herself to name it aloud again. She had never talked openly about any of this with anyone but her mother and Meg, and even then, she had kept the details private.

"Look at the man in front of you, Christine. How could I treat you with any less dignity than you have given me? How can you believe that I find you anything less than?" He forced her head up with his palms so she would look him in the face. His eyes burned. "I have never found you to be anything but _perfect_ , my beautiful Christine."

She choked back another sob. "All this time, I thought, because you didn't say goodbye, that I had somehow appalled you. Maybe not because of my surgery, but because I was somehow too weak because I had been so sick."

"Never. Never, Christine." He shifted on his knees to bring himself closer, his jaw clenched. "I couldn't bear to watch you leave. Ah, Christine, don't you understand? You came into my underground lair and stirred me awake. If I had watched you step out of my life, I would never have found the strength to let you go." He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper of confession. "I never would have let you go."

His hands left her face, drifted down her shoulders, slid down her arms, and clutched both of her hands. He raised her hands and pressed them to his own face, one on his bare cheek, one on the unforgiving hardness of his mask. "How could I ever have risked you dying down there?"

"I'm not dying," she said softly, marveling at him. She wanted to take off his mask to better read his emotions, but now was not the time for exposure.

"I see that now, I do. You are most definitely not dying, and I was too afraid to see it. You are not dying. You are very much alive." He turned his head to the side to press a kiss against the tender skin of her wrist. She wanted to feel those lips on hers, but she feared giving him too much control over her. She feared she might not stop with a kiss. "Very much alive, Christine."

Ah, she loved the sound of her name on his lips. But she wasn't ready to stand down, not yet. She gently tugged her hands free of his and folded her arms across her flat chest.

"You hurt me, Erik."

"I know."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, felt herself calm as she got herself back under control. "I want you to promise never to do it again."

His eyes searched hers. His mouth opened, then closed as he waited for more explanation. She wouldn't ask him to promise not to break her heart, promise never to leave again, promise only happiness from here on out. She knew who she was talking to. But she wanted him to trust her, to deem her worthy of letting her know what was going on. And more than anything, she wanted to trust him.

"I want you to promise to say goodbye." She quickly added, "As long as you are able to."

His shoulders fell, the tension easing. "The next time we part, I will say goodbye."

She didn't want to think about separating from him again, not now when she had only just gotten him back. She pushed aside those other thoughts. There was no talk of commitment here, only the discussion of treating her like a person who deserved his honesty.

"Swear it."

"I swear it, Christine."

He was so convincing, and she wanted desperately to believe him. His words would have to do for now. She scooted to the edge of the couch and rested her forehead against the apex of where his shoulder met his neck. He smelled faintly of the body wash she had bought him and his own unique scent, which she had missed more than she realized.

She heard him suck in a sharp breath. Did her touch really shock him so much anymore? Just moments before he had carried her in his arms to the couch. She felt him shift, and then his hands ghosted along her back, buried into her hair, and pulled her closer against the length of his body. She tucked her knees to the side, not quite sitting on him, and snuggled closer, taking this rare embrace for as long as he would allow it.

It had been a long two days, and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her eyelids fluttered, lured to close by the slight warmth of his body that seeped through their clothes. She must have dozed for a second because when she cracked her eyes open, he was carrying her again, his arms a firm strength around her.

He laid her on her bed and pulled the covers to her shoulder. She felt a soft brush of fingertips across her hair.

"Sleep, my dear," he said softly. "I will be here when you wake."

She resisted the urge to catch his hand. She wondered what he would do if she asked him to stay. Never in her life had she wanted a man to share her bed, even just for sleeping. She thought about what she would do if he asked for more than sleep…

The moment was gone, for he was already rising and turning off her lamp. He left her bedroom door cracked open, and the glow of the other room, signaling his lingering presence in her home, brought a smile to face.

For the first time in two weeks, she was eager to see what tomorrow would bring.


	10. Chapter 10

**This one is long, but I don't think you'll mind. I didn't want to break it until the end. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Christine could tell immediately upon waking that her eyes were swollen from all of her crying last night. She rubbed at them as she sat up, feeling both foolish for the way she had blubbered all over him and filled with sudden elation when she remembered the conversation they'd had.

While Erik had never really apologized for what had happened in Paris, he had least promised that when the time came for him to leave Boston, he would treat her differently. He would make sure she knew he was leaving instead of just vanishing into the night. It was the most she could ask for right now.

Christine took a few gulps of the glass of water by her bed and splashed some of it on her face. She wished her bathroom was attached to the bedroom so she could dip in and freshen up before seeing Erik. She felt more than a little shy after crying all over him last night.

Before she could peek into the living room, there was a soft knock on her bedroom door.

"Awake, my dear?" Erik asked.

Christine settled back into bed and pulled the covers back up. "Yes! You can come in."

Erik entered with a mug of coffee. She tried to hide her delight and probably failed, so she let her grin free anyway. He handed her the cup and stepped back, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his pants. He had changed back into his own pants that she had gotten dry-cleaned, but he wore the black shirt she had bought him. Dressed all in black, his slim yet muscular form outlined by the well-fitting clothes, he seemed as mysterious as ever. She was at once aware of the ratty pajamas she wore.

"Thank you so much," she said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. It felt heavenly on her raw throat. "This is exactly what I needed."

"The least I could do." He watched her slowly drink her coffee, not saying a word. She tried not to squirm under his intense gaze.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. "What is it, Erik?" When he didn't quickly answer, she ventured hesitantly, "Is this about last night?"

"No, most definitely not." He settled onto the edge of her bed, far at the end to keep a proper distance. "You have been everything I could ask for, and certainly more than I deserve." He held up a hand before she could protest. "Nadir is on his way here, to Boston. He wants to see how you are doing for himself. I… do not want to involve you in any of this more than you are willing. If you wish, I can meet him somewhere else instead of your home."

Christine thought for a moment. This was new. For Erik to actually ask her opinion and give her options, he was definitely trying to be more respectful of her.

"It's fine for him to come here," she said. "I told you before – I want you here. That hasn't changed."

He let out a slow breath as though he had been holding it. "Very well. What are your plans for today?"

"No plans. No work today since it's Sunday. I should probably read a bit for school."

"You are in school?" He shifted a bit on the bed. "This is not something I know about."

She gave a carefree laugh. "I suppose you didn't go to college?"

"I did not attend any school. The woman who birthed me would not let me attend because I scared the other children."

God, did every subject have to turn dreadful with him? "I'm so sorry, Erik."

"I have led a different life than you, Christine. I don't wish to speak much of it." All of this was so serious, but his eyes were warmer than she had seen in a while. "I do enjoy talking about yours, however."

"All right." She pushed her hair back from her face and sipped more on her coffee. "I graduate in December with a major in stage management."

He frowned at that. "Not singing? My dear, you should be the one on the stage, not behind the curtain."

"My mother wouldn't hear of it. I told you about this before, didn't I? My father played the violin but never made much money doing it. My mom wanted me to go into something more practical."

"What is the point of practical if your heart doesn't follow along? Eventually, you would wither away. Is managing the stage something within your heart?"

"Not really. But it gets me _on_ the stage in some way, which I like."

"Your answer is right there."

Christine sighed and set aside her empty coffee cup. "I can't just change my plan, Erik. Besides, you've only heard me sing a few times. You can hardly know."

"I knew the first time I heard you sing, my dear," he said, all seriousness. "I needed no more than that one listen." He stood and headed toward the bedroom door. "Daroga will be here within the hour. I suggest you dress and do whatever else you need before he arrives."

He left her alone, shutting the door behind him so she could have privacy.

Christine pulled on her robe, chose fresh clothes for the day, and headed to the bathroom. As she passed by, she saw Erik settle onto the couch with one of the library books she had chosen for him yesterday. The scene made her grin, and she didn't want to be staring with that gleeful expression on her face, so she hurried into the bathroom.

A shower later, she emerged in a white knee-length skirt and cute blouse. She might normally wear shorts in this hot summer weather, but she didn't want to flaunt that much skin around Erik. She had spent a little extra time on her hair and make-up, though he hadn't needed all that to think she was beautiful last night. She flushed with pleasure as she thought about his words.

Erik looked up as she came into the living room, but she held up her own book. "Please, don't let me interrupt. I'll use the waiting time to read a bit for my classes."

He tilted his head in agreement and went back to his reading. The two of them sat in silence for a while on the couch, both at opposite ends. At first, she sneaked a glance at him from time to time, but eventually, she relaxed enough to delve into her own textbook. She pulled her feet onto the couch, folding them at her side. The movement caught his eyes, and those yellow depths followed her bare feet as she tucked them onto the couch.

As he stared, she wished she'd thought to freshen up the paint on her toes.

"Hey," she said, and his eyes jerked to her face. "Should I put on some socks?"

Oh, he knew he'd been caught staring. The corner of his mouth turned down and he was suddenly fascinated by his book again. She felt so smug by his reaction. But it was good thing she hadn't worn those shorts after all.

Some time passed before she heard a rhythmic knock upon the door. Erik didn't look up from his book, so she got up to answer it. Nadir Khan stood on the opposite side, looking rumbled in his brown suit, his black hair a little ruffled, dark circles under his eyes.

He did manage a smile when he saw her. "Miss Daaé. So good to see you again."

"You too," she said, stepping aside so he could enter.

He glanced about the apartment before settling his gaze on Erik, who didn't acknowledge his presence. "You _are_ alive after all."

"Ha." Without looking up, Erik pulled a phone out of his pants pocket and tossed it to Nadir, who caught it easily. "This one is yours. My number is already in it."

"You have been busy," Nadir said, raising an eyebrow.

Erik closed his book with a snap and laid it aside. He steepled his long fingers and leveled a cool look at the older man. Christine stood between them, not sure what to do. "I swept the city. You will be thrilled to note that our presence has not been detected here."

"Well, that is some good news." Nadir strode further into the room, stopping in front of Erik, who didn't seem to mind that he suddenly had to crane his neck back. "For what it's worth to you, I _am_ glad to see you doing well. You sound better than you did on the phone yesterday."

Erik gestured to Christine, who suddenly had both men trained on her. "Christine is an excellent hostess."

She fought a blush. "I'd be a better host if I offered you something to drink. Mr. Khan?"

"Thank you, Miss Daaé. Tea, if you have it. The drive from New York was a long one."

She made her way to the kitchen and prepped two cups in case Erik wanted some as well. While she waited for the water to boil, she listened in to the two men's conversation. Nadir settled onto the couch next to Erik who crossed one long leg over the other at the ankle. Erik seemed pleased enough to see Nadir, though Christine knew he would never admit it.

Before they delved too deep into discussion, Nadir tilted his head at Christine. "Forgive my bluntness," he said, "but is she allowed to hear all of this?"

Erik waved a dismissive hand. Christine couldn't see his expression as he was facing away from her, but he seemed calm enough about it. "Let us not be rude, Daroga. This is her home."

The two men exchanged some kind of meaningful look, and Nadir looked away first. That seemed the end of the argument as they began to speak of various places Erik had apparently visited yesterday. Christine recognized a few street names and businesses, but none she had frequented before. They didn't talk about what Erik had done, but their conversation was dipped in mystery and vague language. They obviously had done this before, maybe many times before. These two had a long history, after all.

The water boiling, she poured it over the two tea bags and waited as it steeped.

"I would suggest you contact Darius," Erik said to Nadir.

Nadir nodded. "He knows we are stateside, but that is all for now. If you have given Boston a clean sweep, is that really necessary?"

"I have a theory, and to follow it, you must map out the group's movements from the past year. Darius should be able to provide what you need, correct?"

Nadir gave a loud sigh and rubbed his forehead. "Can I at least get a few hours of sleep first?"

"Of course, Daroga. You are welcome to waste my time. Shouldn't you have slept on the plane?"

"That was yesterday!"

Christine interrupted the two of them with cups of tea, along with anything they would need to fix it the way they liked. She handed Erik his teacup first. "Mr. Khan won't be any good if you exhaust him so quickly."

Erik snorted and stirred an obscene amount of honey into his tea. He didn't argue with her, which pleased her.

Christine turned to hand Nadir his cup of tea, but she paused with the cup lifted. He had reached forward, but when she didn't hand it over, he faltered.

"Miss Daaé?"

She looked him straight in the face. "I want to make one thing clear, Mr. Khan, before we move forward in any way. I forgive you for what you did in Paris. You were looking out for me, and you were looking out for Erik, and so I understand why." Here she leaned forward, the teacup steady in her hands. "But if you _ever_ pry into my private life again, I won't bother to save you from the punjab. Mr. Khan, here is your tea."

"I take my black, but thank you." To her extreme satisfaction, his hands shook slightly when he took the cup from her. Erik made some kind of weird noise, but she ignored him and went back to the kitchen to put away the tea supplies.

"Feel free to use my place as you need," she said. "I know you're far from home."

Nadir cleared his throat. "Thank you, Miss Daaé. I have checked into a hotel, so I will rest there soon."

"We have much to accomplish," Erik reminded him and took a sip of his own tea, careful to work around his mask.

"I know, I know. But it will take a while for Darius to collect and organize his data. We don't want to go into anything blindly."

"We are already blind! How could they possibly know I left France?" Erik pondered a moment. "Boston is quiet, but can they already have realized I am in the States?"

"Darius will be able to shed more light on that."

"Who is Darius?" Christine asked. If they didn't want to her to know, she figured they would be cryptic about it. However, they gave her an acceptable answer.

"Darius was part of my taskforce while I was in Iran," Nadir said. "I suppose you could say he started as my servant, but I quickly realized he had far better talents than running errands. He left the country with me when I was released from prison, and we decided he was best stationed in New York. He has been an excellent source of information for the past seven years."

"So he knows about Erik? He's trustworthy?"

"Oh yes, the very best. I have known him even longer than our mutual friend."

Erik rose from the couch as she started emptying the clean dishes from the dishwasher. He reached to take a plate from her, and for a moment, she stared at those long, pale fingers. Those hands could touch her so gently and bruise her so easily. The marks on her neck had faded enough that not much make-up was needed to cover them; luckily, she had done so this morning before Nadir arrived. She didn't want to have to explain to him when he already so often thought the worst of Erik.

She wished she had a piano he could play. She would love to see those fingers move across the keys one more time.

"Christine?" His voice was soft.

She jerked her own hand back, giving him the plate. "Sorry. I zoned out." She pulled out the container of flatware as he finished the plates and bowls.

"Is this too much for you? Tell me if so."

"No, I can handle it." She gave him a smile. "Promise."

Nadir cleared his throat. "I'm ready for that nap now." Erik glared, but the other man pointedly ignored him. "Darius won't have anything for us until much later today. In the meantime, I need a shower, a shave, and a nap." He got up and brought the teacup to the kitchen. "Thank you so much, Miss Daaé."

"I have stuff to make dinner, if you'd like some."

"I would be delighted." He turned to the fuming masked man who loomed over them both. "I bought you a room too, and your suitcase is there. I took the liberty of packing for you."

"Of course you did," Erik said icily.

Christine hadn't considered that. Now that Nadir was here and had access to all of Erik's funds, of course he wouldn't have to stay at her place anymore. She thought about the last two mornings, how nice it had been to wake up with him here. Could she ask him to stay? Definitely not in front of Nadir, so she would have to wait until later.

Nadir inclined his head to them both and headed to the door. "Until this evening."

"Bye, Mr. Khan."

But when he opened the door, Nadir didn't step outside. In fact, he just stood there in the foyer with the door open. After a few seconds, he found his voice, glancing at Christine. "Miss Daaé, you have company."

"And _who_ are _you_?" came a very familiar female voice from the entryway.

Christine bit back a curse. " _Mama_?" She bolted around Erik, who was edging further back into the kitchen, and rushed to the door. It was indeed her mother, and she was carrying a small suitcase.

"Chrissy!" Her mother's face brightened when she saw her daughter. "There you are."

"What are you doing here?" Christine hissed harsher than she should have. She blocked her mother in the open door. Nadir stood uselessly beside her.

Anna pouted. "Can't a mother pop in for a visit?"

Of course she could, and she did often enough. Her mother showed properties all over the northeast, and the Boston area was an easy place to venture since Christine lived here. In fact, Christine would often give her the bed and sleep on the couch herself.

Christine gave her mother her best smile. "You just took me by surprise. I'm so happy to see you!" She would have given her a hug, but she was afraid that would let her mom a glimpse into the apartment.

Her mother looked pointedly at Nadir. "And this is..?"

"N- Mister…" Christine faltered, at a loss for what she should do.

Luckily, Nadir swept in. "Dr. Khan. Pleasure to meet you." He offered his hand and Anna took it. "I am one of Christine's professors. She's taking my amplifying sound for the stage course this semester."

Christine swung her head around, eyes wide. How did he know she was taking that? He was _so_ dead. Nadir flashed her a charming smile. She might use that punjab on him herself.

"I was just leaving," Nadir said. "Thank you so much for going over those notes, Christine. I appreciate your input on our upcoming show."

"Sure," Christine said, dumbfounded.

Nadir tipped an imaginary hat at them both and swept out the door. It was only later than Christine realized he had taken Erik's hat and cloak with him, both of which had been hanging by the door.

Before Christine could react, her mother hurried into her apartment and set her suitcase down. Christine shut the door behind her and glanced nervously around. Erik was nowhere to be found.

"Really, Chrissy, are all of your professors that handsome? You've been holding out on me."

Christine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Dr. Khan is married. What are you doing here?" she deflected. "Usually you call first."

"I _did_ call." Her mother dug into the pantry and helped herself to a cookie. "I haven't seen my baby since you got back from Paris. If I wasn't so secure in our relationship, I would think you were avoiding me."

Christine sighed. "I've just been busy. And tired."

Her mother patted her cheek with a well-manicured hand. "It is school, work, or… you know."

"I've actually felt pretty good physically. I dropped my painkiller. I think it's just starting back with school and work at the same time. I need to get back into the groove of things."

"Well, I'm here now, Chrissy. How about I stay for a few days? We can bond over good food and drinks during the day and shitty girly movies at night."

Christine forced a smile. She needed to get her mother out of the apartment so Erik could escape from wherever he had hidden himself. "How about we start with lunch."

* * *

Lunch with her mother was strained, to say the least. On the one hand, Christine was thrilled to be hanging out with Anna after almost three months without seeing her. Connecticut wasn't that far away, and her mom visited whenever she had realtor business in the city.

On the other hand, Christine was distracted by the obvious fact that she needed to keep Erik away from her mother… or her mother away from Erik. She wasn't sure which way she should think about it. While Nadir was normal and charismatic, Erik would only be a huge heap of questions Christine couldn't begin to answer.

Her mother swirled her straw in her peach sangria. "So we've talked about your school, work, and my work and boyfriends. Now I want to know: are _you_ seeing anyone?"

Christine choked on her own water. "No. Definitely not. Why?"

"I just don't want to see you alone forever, Chrissy. You're beautiful and smart – there's no reason you can't scoop up a man for yourself. What happened to that one guy you saw during the winter?"

"Raoul," Christine offered, so happy Erik wasn't around for this conversation. "He's nice, but _too_ nice, you know? Boring nice."

"Oh, my girl, but boring is good. Boring is stable, and God knows you need some stability after what you've been through."

"I know, Mama. And I _am_ happy, maybe the happiest I've been in a while. Or at least, happy enough."

Her mother laughed. "No one wants to just be happy _enough_!"

She was right, of course. Anna had a way of saying everything that Christine wanted to say herself. The other woman had little to hold her own tongue back.

They finished eating and headed back to Christine's place. As they rode in her mother's car, Christine knew she had to broach the subject of where her mom was staying. But she couldn't just refuse to let her mom stay with her – they'd always bunked together, and Nadir did say a hotel room was available for Erik should he need it. Christine hated this situation, but there wasn't much she could do.

"Hey, Mama," she said, nervously twirling a bit of her hair. "I already made dinner plans tonight with… a friend."

Her mother waggled her eyebrows at her. "A _boy_ friend?"

"A friend who's a man, yes. Can you entertain yourself until later? Say, 10? I promise I'll tell you about it when you get back."

"I wouldn't dream of interfering, Chrissy! I need to meet with a few clients before the work week starts up anyway. How about I call you before I show up at your door this time, hmm?"

She gave a little laugh. "Thanks, Mama."

Anna dropped her off at the curb and waved goodbye as she drove off. Christine was relieved that everything had gone as smoothly as it had.

As soon as she entered her apartment, it was clear that Erik had vacated the premises as soon as he was able. On the kitchen table, she found a note with a phone number on it. Christine felt odd just calling Erik like he was any other person, so instead, she sent him a text.

 _All good with Mama, but she's staying at my apartment for a few days._

She didn't have to wait long for a reply.

 _I assumed. You can find the address of the hotel in your nightstand. I will stay there. –E_

Christine was more than a little disappointed, but she pushed aside her feelings. She sent another text.

 _Are we still on for dinner? Mama won't be back until late._

 _If you still wish it_.

 _I do._

A pause, then Erik sent, _What time?_

 _8_ , she replied.

His reply was brief, but it sent a thrill through her. _Until then, my dear. – E_

For the rest of the afternoon, Christine busied herself with getting ready for dinner. All of her meetings with the two men had been impromptu – this was the first time she was actually hosting both of them together in any formal way, and she found herself wanting to make a good impression. She planned a meal of creamy meatballs, mashed potatoes, and a side salad. It was simple food, but one close to her heart; she remembered her father often cooking this when she was little.

She did the shopping and cleaned the apartment top to bottom, which it needed desperately. After that, she was hot and sticky, so she took a quick shower and put on her best sundress, the one with fluttery sleeves and a v-neck that didn't reveal her scars, a soft blue frock with pink flowers on it.

She wasn't planning a difficult meal, and she still had a few hours until she needed to start cooking. After so many days of little sleep and stressful situations, Christine thought a little nap might help her stay sharp while juggling Erik, Nadir, and now, her mother. Plus, tomorrow was Monday and she had an 8 o'clock class.

Yawning, Christine tucked her feet under her and settled onto the couch. She propped her head onto her arm. She would just close her eyes for a moment, and after an hour, she'd get busy.

* * *

Christine woke to the soft gurgling sound of coffee brewing. She distinctly did not remember turning on her coffee pot, so she jerked her head around to see Erik standing in her kitchen. He was dressed exactly same way he had been the first time she met him. His black suit was free of tears, his cloak wrinkle-free. He wore clean black gloves. Obviously, Nadir had brought him fresh clothes.

He must have only just arrived. Christine didn't waste him on being unnerved that he had entered her apartment despite the fact that both doors had been locked. A glance at the microwave's clock told her it was 8:05, and she hadn't even started dinner yet.

She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her rumbled dress and pushing her curly hair from her eyes. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I fell asleep!"

A smile played across the corner of his mouth. "So I see."

"I'll start dinner right away. I still have time." She hurried into the kitchen and began to root in the fridge for ingredients. She needed the ground meat, shredded cheese, heavy cream, parsley.

His gloved hand upon her arm stopped her. "No need unless you need it for yourself. Daroga sends his regrets, but he must rest. We have much to do tonight, so it is best that he do so now. You know I have little need for food."

She was a little disappointed. She hadn't actually expected Erik to try anything, but she'd been looking forward to sharing a favorite meal with someone. Her body still felt heavy from sleep, though, so she didn't quite mind being able to relax instead.

She straightened and gave him a long look. Then, determined, she reached for his hat. It pained her how he automatically recoiled, thinking she was going for his mask. "If you're here for dinner, you should act like it."

"Ah." He relaxed somewhat and bent down so she could slip off his hat, mindful not to disturb the white porcelain on his face. He swept his hands over the slicked-back hair of his wig as though making sure it was still in place. She held out a hand for his cloak, and he obediently placed the heavy black fabric over her arm.

After she hung both up, she came back to stand in front of him. She hated seeing how guarded he was, as though waiting for her to ask something of him at any moment. Well, she was. She gestured.

"The gloves too."

"Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

"Always." She didn't want to stare as he revealed his long fingers, so she began to search in her cabinets for two glasses. "I appreciate the coffee, but after this weekend, I'm in the mood for something else." She set two wine glasses on the counter and held up a bottle of red wine. "Shall we?"

While he opened the bottle and poured them both a glass, she dug around in the fridge for the leftover Chinese food. It wouldn't be the most glamorous meal to go with wine, but since he wasn't eating, she would fix whatever she felt like. She piled her plate with an assortment and stuck it in the microwave.

Erik handed her a glass. "A toast?" he asked.

"Sure." She thought for a moment, and she couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound embarrassing. "I have an appointment with my oncologist later this week. It's my usual three month visit." At Erik's frown, she raised a placating hand. "It's mostly about my lingering pain, but in any case, it signals that I've now been cancer free for nine months." She raised her glass. "Go me."

"Go… you." Erik seemed to rouse himself from his thoughts. He clicked his glass against hers. "To being cancer free."

Christine sniffed the wine. "I warn you – I have no idea where this bottle came from." She took a sip and made a face. "Oh, that's not near as good as what you had in Paris."

"On that we agree. From now on, my dear, I will choose our wine."

His comment warmed her from the inside out. It was a comment about the future, like he saw the possibility of shared bottles of wine beyond this one. She knew that he wouldn't stay here in Boston forever. His home was in Paris, after all. But there had to be some way to work out a… visiting schedule? She had gone two weeks without seeing him, and after having him back in her life again, she wasn't so sure she could go through that a second time. Not silently, anyway.

Then again, when she did start thinking about a future with him? It hadn't been that long ago that she was so hurt and furious with him that she never even wanted him to touch her again.

She fetched her food and sat at the kitchen table to eat. Erik certainly hadn't tried to kiss her since he had been back in her life. Maybe he saw this as a friends only type relationship? She was someone to confide in. Someone who saw his flaws and accepted him, as a friend would.

Could she see a lifetime of having him watch her eat?

She finished quickly and stuck her plate in the dishwasher. He was so quiet tonight, his eyes distant as he swirled the wine in his glass. She didn't feel like forcing any conversation out of him. She was just happy to have him here, right now. Scooping up her own glass, she motioned to the couch.

"I'm tired tonight. Is it okay if we just watch TV?"

"As you want," he said.

She wanted to yell at him: yes, but what do _you_ want? Instead, she waited until he had sat on the couch, in that way of his that made her smile, his free hand resting on top of his thigh, before she took a seat next to him. Up until now, she had kept her distance, but maybe it was the wine or the fact that he had called her beautiful last night. This time, she sat right next to him, so close that the edge of her dress brushed against his leg.

He sucked in a breath, clearly noticing. She was glad she had thought to sit on his unmasked side so she could read his face. She found the remote and clicked to something she thought he might like – a crime drama. It was halfway through, and she didn't know how much they would be able to follow along, but Erik didn't comment on it.

She took a large gulp of her wine and placed her hand on top of his.

There were many different ways he could have reacted, most of which he had done before. He could have squeezed her hand, and this she would have liked. He could have drawn his hand away, which would have been a normal reaction for him. He could have chosen to go beyond just hand holding – this was an option she had already entertained in her head.

He didn't. His cold hand was statuesque under hers.

"Nadir and I are leaving tomorrow."

She was the one who snatched her hand back. "W-what?"

His eyes were on the dark red liquid in his glass. "Darius has seen little activity in New York City to show that anyone suspects I have come stateside. However, this is not something I will leave alone without checking for myself. I expect my search will take a while. A week. Several weeks."

"Oh," was all she could manage for a moment. He had only just gotten here, and now he was leaving again. She blinked angrily at the sudden rush of hotness behind her eyes, furious with herself that she would get emotional so easily about this. She was a big girl. She would act like it. "Thank you for telling me, Erik."

His response was swift, his voice suddenly rough. "I didn't tell you because I swore to always say _goodbye_ , Christine." When he turned to meet her startled gaze, she swallowed at his intensity. "I am not saying goodbye."

Wait, what was he saying, then? She finished her wine and set the glass down. "Then what?"

"I can make arrangements for you to come as well." He leaned slightly forward. "Come with us to New York, Christine. Come with _me_."

Go to New York? He wanted her to go with him? Her thoughts spun at the possibility. He wasn't saying goodbye! Still, she had to look at this from a practical point-of-view. "But what about my job? My classes?"

"The library?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is that job so important to you? It does not pay enough to cover all of your expenses. I have more than enough to provide whatever you need. As for your coursework, this trip is only temporary."

"Temporary! You said it could take weeks. I would fail all of my classes if I vanished for that long. Plus, I can't live off your money. That wouldn't be right at all."

He set his glass on the coffee table with a fierceness that showed his frustration. She sounded like she was arguing with him, but that wasn't what she meant. She touched his arm, meaning to placate him.

"You do not have to come," he said, his tone bitter. "I will not force you."

There was a time when she though he would have. He _did_ , down underneath the Palais Garnier, when he had locked her in his bedroom that first night. But this Erik was now someone who was making a lot more effort to think about things from her perspective. He hadn't kidnapped her and dragged her off to New York. He had _asked_.

"I can't go for a long time," she said, keeping her voice soft. "I can't abandon my life here. But I would love to come for a few days, maybe off and on. Until you are finished up there."

"Ah, Christine!" With a quickness she had come to expect from him, but that still took her breath away, he swept her into his arms. His embrace was everything she imagined a hug from him would feel like – crushing, his hands gripping too tightly, his mask scraping against her cheek. She hoped the hug would last forever.

He spoke in her ear. "I spent a year in this city once, before Paris. I know just what I want to show you. I am pleased you will come with me. Very, very pleased, my dear."

She shivered. When he pulled away, she immediately missed the feel of his lean body around her. They turned back to the TV show, and this time, when she touched his hand, he entwined his fingers with hers.

* * *

 **Oh, what does he have planned for New York?**


	11. Chapter 11

**As always, I love to hear what you think of the direction this is going. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

The text came two days later while she was sitting in her morning class and doodling in her notebook. She had already drawn a mask, a flower, a violin, and a pony, and she was currently working on shading a stunning rendition of a bunny wielding a sword. Her phone vibrated atop her desk.

 _My dear Christine. Will you visit today? If you consent, a car will arrive to pick you up at 1:30 in the afternoon. Please pack what you need to stay overnight. I await you with eagerness. Yours, E._

She tucked her phone under the desk and typed an immediate answer.

 _Yes! I can't wait!_

The next thirty minutes passed too slowly. As soon as the professor dismissed them, she shot out the door and fired off a text to Meg.

 _I need your help. Meet me at noon. My place._

Then she called her mother, who wasn't as text savvy. "Mama, I'm going to be tied up at school for the rest of the day. You already grabbed your suitcase, right?"

Anna complained at not getting to say a proper goodbye, as Christine thought she would, but agreed to get together again in two weeks. She was heading back to Connecticut that evening anyway, and her day was jam-packed with clients until then. Christine had been able to easily dodge her mother's questions earlier about the mysterious dinner date on Sunday by saying they had parted as friends. Which was true. Sort of.

Christine could barely focus on her next two classes, which were back-to-back, but she knew she needed to get through them in order to avoid any penalties. She sent emails to her professors tomorrow explaining that she wouldn't be there. Then, between classes, she called the library and asked for the next two days off. She usually worked Friday-Monday, so it didn't much matter anyway.

As soon as she was able, she hopped the bus back to her apartment. Meg found her kneeling among a messy spread of assorted clothing, one step away from tossing all of it into a way too large suitcase.

"Girl, what's going on?"

Christine gave her a frenzied look. "I'm leaving for New York in less than two hours, and I don't know what to wear!" Was she wailing? She wasn't the sort to wail over clothing, but she was sure she sounded shrill.

"Ok." Meg put her hands on her hips and appraised her. "Who are you and what have you done with Christine?"

"This isn't funny, Meg. I need serious help here. I'm- I'm meeting someone there."

"Someone? A _male_ someone?" Meg waggled her eyebrows. "Who is it? You're going to have to dish before I'll help you."

Christine hesitated. How much should she reveal to her best friend? Meg had no idea that the same man who had kicked Christine out of his life in Paris was now hanging around her on the East Coast. Christine decided to throw caution to the wind. No matter what Meg said, she was going to New York anyway.

"It's the man I met in Paris." She waited for Meg to finish gawking at her, then continued. "I can hear all of your comments, so save them. He showed up and explained why he acted the way he did, and we've seen each other several times over the weekend. He wants me to come visit him in New York."

"He didn't give you much notice!"

No, he hadn't, but Christine was quickly getting used to his abruptness. She wasn't sure what that said about her, but sometimes, she found it all more exciting than she probably should. "He did warn me that an invitation was coming."

"As what, Christine? Friends? More than friends?"

"I… really don't know. We seem more than friends. He hasn't kissed me or anything since we made up, so stop looking at me like that."

Meg puffed a sigh. "I'm not one to judge, but you've really got to figure out what the point of this visit is. Did he give you any details about what you'll be doing?"

"Nothing besides that a car would come pick me up and I needed an overnight bag."

"Oh dear lord. Any other hints that this is something romantic? Anything, Christine? A man doesn't invite a woman on an overnight trip without thinking something of his own."

Christine tried not to blush. Any previous intimacy with Erik had been desperate and crazy, and he hadn't attempted much since he had shown up on her balcony. "He held my hand last night. And he called me beautiful."

"Uh-huh." Meg tapped a finger against her chin. "We'll assume this is a date, then. Let's take a look at your clothes."

Ten minutes later and Meg had chosen four different outfits for Christine, two casual and two dressier. Christine gave her a relieved smile, and Meg patted her hand in sympathy.

"My lovely Chris, all grown up."

Christine smacked her with a skirt lying nearby. "Anything else I need?"

"Lingerie?"

"Oh my god, Meg!"

Meg flung her arms out like she expected Christine to attack her again. "He's sending a car to _pick you up_ for an _overnight_ trip to the Big Apple. Do you really think he's not expecting something to happen while you're there?"

Christine looked away. "He's not like that."

"He's _not_ a man?"

"He's not that kind of man. He's different, Meg, I don't know how else to explain it. He's… shy. Maybe that's not the right word, but he's not the type to pressure me into anything."

Meg peered into the upper drawer of Christine's dresser. "So you're saying you shouldn't come prepared?" She flicked a particular pair of lacy underwear in Christine's direction. "Even if you don't want to, even if he never suggests it, shouldn't you at least look cute?"

Christine sighed and tucked a few pairs of racier underwear into her bag. After Meg had helped her choose jewelry and shoes, she turned the topic of conversation to her upcoming going away party on Saturday.

"You'll be back for that, of course?" Meg asked.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Christine promised, beginning to pack her small travel bag. "What's the theme? I know you have one."

Meg laughed. "Well, I've done luau, toga, disco, and 80s in this year alone. So I thought, let's go sexy and secretive with a masquerade!"

Christine almost choked. "M-masquerade?"

"Yeah, you know, with masks and fancy gowns and stuff. Everyone has to dress up or they don't get in. Didn't you get my invitation?"

Admittedly, Christine hadn't checked her mail in a while. She'd been avoiding bills she knew were waiting for her. "I don't have anything to wear."

"Don't worry about it. I've got you covered. I bought like five outfits to try on for myself, so you can pick one of those."

"The party sounds awesome, Meg." Christine indicated her suitcase. "I'm going to finish packing. I'm supposed to be picked up soon, and I should grab a bite to eat beforehand."

Meg gave her a fierce hug. "Call me when you get there. Call me on the way back."

"Yes, Mom."

After her friend left, Christine scrambled to get everything she thought she might need, both for an overnight trip and for such a long drive.

At 1:30 exactly, Christine received a text from Erik.

 _Your chauffeur has arrived, my dear Christine. His name is James, and he knows little. I suggest you rest during your travel for we will be up late tonight. –E_

She thought she knew what he meant by "he knows little." This person was just someone hired to drive her – not someone who knew all about Erik.

Christine was suddenly nervous, but she grabbed her bag and purse and headed out the door. In the front of her building, nestled at the curb, was a sleek black Rolls Royce. The driver, dressed in a black suit, stepped out and tipped his hat to her.

"Miss Daaé?"

"Y-yes."

"A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle." He had a thick French accent, which brought a smile to Christine's lips.

"Thank you, James." He took her suitcase and placed it in the trunk, then opened the back door for her. The interior of the car was all gorgeous white leather that was soft under her palms as she slid inside. Everything was shiny and new. It even smelled expensive.

On the seat next to her was a small arrangement of various snacks and drinks. She also found a small pillow and an incredibly soft blanket waiting for her. Erik was serious about that napping thing, and Christine was beyond eager to find out what they were doing tonight.

James lowered the partition between them a few inches. "Miss Daaé, please don't hesitate to ask me for anything you need. We should arrive at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in a little less than four hours, and we will stop for a break halfway."

"Sounds great!" She popped a few grapes in her mouth and snuggled happily under the blanket. As the car pulled away from her apartment, she set the radio to her favorite station and pulled out the novel she had packed.

This was an excellent beginning to what she was sure would be a night to remember.

* * *

Christine had been to New York a few times while her father had still been alive. He had traveled all over the place, playing his violin wherever he was welcome in order to make a few bucks. Sometimes Christine had joined him by singing when he asked, encouraged to share her developing voice by his kind words.

She didn't have a lot of memories of the big city, but she did remember feeling so small under the towering buildings. Her father had always held her hand as they walked the streets, his large palm warm against hers. _Hold tight, Christine_ , he had said. _I wouldn't want my little dove to get lost._

Now, she craned her neck trying to peer up out the window. She had dutifully taken a long nap during the car ride, and while she felt a little crusty from sleep, she was eager to reach the hotel and see what came next.

It was about 5:30 p. m., and they had made excellent time. As Christine caught sight of Central Park, still quite green in the fading summer heat, the car pulled up to a curb in front of a large hotel with two tall glass towers rising to either side of the front building. Christine tried and probably failed to keep from gaping up at the opulent structures.

James parked and stepped out to open her door. "We are here, Miss Daaé. The hotel room is under the name Erik Garnier, and you may find a keycard at the front desk. I will have your suitcase taken to your room." He held up a hand when she tried to give him a tip. "No need, mademoiselle. Monsieur Garnier has paid all of my expenses tonight."

The inside of the hotel was gorgeous, unlike any place she had stayed before. Oh, she had seen fancy places before – she had explored Paris, after all – but she had never stayed among such lavishness. Erik had put a lot of thought and care into her trip. More and more, this was looking like a date rather than just a venture between two people still testing out whether or not they were friends.

The last name Garnier only added to the warmth she felt, a reference to the Palais Garnier, the very opera house under which they had met.

A manager at the front desk had clearly been notified of her arrival because she didn't even have to say who she was. A smile and a kind word, and she had a keycard in her hand and a bellhop to escort her to her room.

The hotel room was far larger than she expected – more like a small apartment in size. A huge bed, covered in plush white, stood to one side. An open bottle of champagne sat on ice on top of the dresser, along with a spread of fresh fruit and cheese. She poured a glass and sipped it as she explored.

Christine walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the corner. She had a clear view of Central Park, and under the fading sun, the park and the city were both gorgeous. She was beyond thrilled to finally be here after such a long drive.

A large dark gray divan took up part of the corner and upon it she found several items for her to peruse. She took a gulp of champagne and set aside her glass.

The first thing she found was a note inside a sealed envelope, written in Erik's red inked scrawl. _Welcome to New York, my dear Christine. You would do me a great honor by wearing the items I have left for you. James will pick you up at 7:30. In the meantime, enjoy a bath and refreshment. Until then, E._

She put the note to her lips and inhaled. The crisp white paper smelled like him.

Oh, Erik.

The most obvious thing on the divan was a white garment bag. Christine unzipped it and gasped. Inside was a floor-length gown made of silk in a stunning shade of royal blue. She set it aside to study once she was ready to dress. Next to it, she found a case, which she opened with shaking hands. She found two items inside: one, a diamond-studded cuff for her wrist, the other, a diamond comb in the shape of a rose for her hair. She glanced at the floor where four boxes of shoes were lined up in a row.

Before she could even begin to think about wearing these expensive items, she needed to freshen up. Christine went to the bathroom, where she found an array of bubble baths, shampoos, and soaps, all in scents that she normally enjoyed. She happily used them, soaking for a long time and sipping her champagne, her mind spinning with all the possibilities of what Erik had in store for her.

After her bath, she pinned her hair in a waterfall of brown curls down one of her shoulders and did her face in a thin layer of what she hoped was tasteful make-up. She painted her nails in her favorite pale pink nail polish and poured another half-glass of champagne to drink while she waited for them to dry.

Then it was time to dress. She slid the gown from the garment bag and held it up. She had never worn anything remotely like this before. The royal blue dress had a high, tasteful neck with thin straps and a plunging, open back. She frowned when she saw the lack of fabric around the back. The dress was lovely, and she desperately wanted to wear it, but there was no way she could wear her padded bra with such an open back.

Before she went and texted Erik, and therefore embarrassed herself, she decided to try it on. As soon as she stepped into the silky material and pulled it up to her chest, she realized that breast pads had been sewn into the fabric. Just for her. And they weren't even too big or too small, but rather exactly the same size that she typically chose to wear.

She blinked rapidly. She would _not_ cry and spoil her make-up before she had even stepped out the door. Maybe there was a time that she would have been embarrassed by the fact that Erik had paid that much attention to her need, but now she was only touched by the care he had taken.

Christine tucked the diamond comb into her hair where it was pinned at the nape of her neck and slid on the heavy cuff. She selected a pair of heels – a little higher than she might normally wear, but not too high that she feared toppling over – and studied herself in the mirror. She looked… well, fantastic, if she was being honest with herself. Erik had excellent taste. The gown fit perfectly, the sides coming around just enough to hide the edge of her scars, and the range of heels on the shoes had ensured she didn't have to worry about the length. A small train on the gown gathered at the tops of the backs of her thighs and fluttered behind her.

Inside the garment bag, she had found a crystal-encrusted wristlet into which she tucked her lipstick, ID, and hotel keycard.

She was ready.

As promised, James was standing by the car, prepared to open the door as soon as he saw her.

"Where are we going, James?" she asked once she was seated, lowering the partition between them.

"I'm sorry, _mademoiselle_ ," he replied, smiling at her in the rear-view mirror. "I'm not allowed to say."

It was clear that Erik had meticulously planned the evening. The city was cast in a soft evening glow, and Christine's stomach fluttered with anticipation for the evening. She stared out the window and tried not to nervously twist the fabric of her gown. She didn't have to wait long before James stopped the car.

Another man opened the door for her and immediately offered his arm. Christine glanced around, seeing a tall fancy building with other people dressed in black tie attire beginning to file inside.

"Miss Daaé," the man said. "Welcome to the opera."

Led up the carpet-lined steps to the large doors guarding the entrance to the New York opera house, the train of her dress cascading behind her, Christine felt like royalty. She had no tickets, but that didn't seem to matter. The man escorting her knew where to go. They took an elevator to the top floor.

"Would you like any refreshments?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she replied. She'd already had a glass and a half of champagne, and that was enough for now.

The man led her around the hall to a door, the last in a long line of entrances that must all lead to private boxes. He opened it and indicated she could go inside.

"Enjoy the show, Miss Daaé," he said, shutting the door behind her.

The box was small, with only two velvet-lined chairs, one slightly in front of the other. She couldn't see the patrons next to her until she was almost upon the ledge itself, so the box was very private. She took the seat nearest to the edge and looked out into the large opera house. She had spent a lot of time roaming the Palais Garnier, and she would argue that building was one of the most beautiful opera houses in the world, but this one was also gorgeous in its own right. The box sat to the side of the stage, and she would have an excellent view.

She wished that Erik was here. He had made sure she was well taken care of, but she was ready to finally see him. Surely he wouldn't make her watch the show all by herself?

The house lights blinked on and off several times, indicating the performance was about to start. Christine found a pair of small theater binoculars and put them to her face as the music began. She didn't recognize the opening song. She had half expected Erik to take her a certain other opera to try to prove a point.

As the music and strong operatic voices filled the stage with Italian, she didn't hear the door open and close behind her.

She felt the swell of his presence in the box a moment before the back of his gloved fingers skimmed her upper arm. She moved to twist around in her seat, but his voice spoke softly in her ear, stilling her.

"There is time enough for greetings later, my dear."

She wanted to see him. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck. However, she didn't want to draw too much attention to her box, so she kept facing forward, watching the stage. A tenor was singing, surrounded by men who were his friends. The warm of Erik's body pressed against her back, his scent of ink and darkness washing over her. She could tell he was not watching the stage.

It had only been two days, but she felt starved for him. Her body ached for more of his touch in a way that should have frightened her.

Erik's breath in her ear made her tremble as he spoke again. She clutched her wristlet. "He is dreaming about his lady love, a woman he has not yet met. Ah, see, there she is. She is engaged to another man."

"I half-expected _Faust_ ," she whispered over her shoulder.

His quiet laugh thrilled her.

Throughout the opera, Erik translated for her, explaining the plot and emotions of the characters. Always, his voice was a whisper tucked in her ear so no one could overhear him. She appreciated his commentary so she could fully understand what was going on in the opera, but mostly, she wanted him to go on speaking in that low timbre that would have weakened her knees if she hadn't already been sitting.

The house lights came on for intermission, and as they did, Erik leapt to his feet and faced away from the stage, no doubt to hide his mask from anyone with prying binoculars. She immediately stood as well. He might not want to face the crowd in the bright lights, but she could face him. He was dressed in his usual full black attire. He turned his uncovered face slightly to the side, the single yellow eye sweeping up and down her form.

She followed him. She slid between him and the wall and threaded her arms around his slender waist, under his cloak, resting her cheek against his vest.

His hands came up to lightly clasp her shoulders, the leather cool on her bare skin. Those long-fingered hands slid down the sides of her gown before skimming across the bare expanse of her back, slowly, almost as though he was afraid to touch her. She wanted more of him. He had invaded her senses again. She craved more.

She tilted her face up. The look in his glittery eyes almost broke her, but she couldn't lose it now, not when they were just getting started tonight.

"A kiss?" she pleaded. "A small one. Please?"

He bent his tall frame and touched his lips to hers. His quivered, hers struggled not to part in a silent request for more. The kiss was chaste, his lips cool and dry. She clung to the fabric of his coat lest she collapse from the weight of it.

"Ah, Christine, you are exquisite." One of his hands threaded through the hair pinned loosely across her shoulder, and he stared as he seemed to marvel at the curls.

"Everything has been so lovely," she said, not willing to turn him loose just yet. "The dress, the jewelry. All of it."

He brought her hand up from around his waist and pressed his lips to the skin above the diamond cuff. "It is all yours."

"It is too much, Erik. You don't have to give me gifts."

"I would give you anything."

His words were heavy, too filled with promise to fit in this tiny opera box.

She cleared her throat. "Her last aria was so sad. Shouldn't she be happy with what she has?"

"She was singing her despair," Erik said, his mouth too close to hers, his thumbs grazing her shoulders, his gloves no longer so cold. "She is longing for something other than her fiancée, but she has not yet realized who she wants."

"When will she figure it out?" Christine whispered.

"All too late, my dear. This is opera after all."

Christine huffed. "So you've ruined the ending for me."

His answering chuckle vibrated against her cheek. "Will I never convince you of opera's worth? You wound me deeply. We may not yet become friends."

She wanted to be more than friends, but she adored it when he tried to joke. "Oh, I appreciate its worth, its contribution to society. But musical theater speaks more to my soul."

"And here is where you may understand me." He bent closer to her, his cheek against hers. "That is how _your_ singing speaks to me. The woman on stage could so easily be you."

She flushed at that. The house lights were blinking again, and too soon she was left standing in the shadows with him. The prima donna's voice rose up to greet them.

"Shall we finish the opera, Christine?"

She nodded, and they both returned to their seats. She was relieved that he kept his hands to himself for the rest of the show. She didn't think she would have paid any attention to the opera otherwise.

* * *

 **So some fluff before the storm. Where is he taking her next, hmm?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Onward!**

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Erik left the private box as soon as applause rose up after the last note, kissing her hand and promising a short car ride with James to the next location. She thought about refusing to be parted from him, but she knew he needed to hurry out before the house lights came on. He always moved best within darkness, not someone who thrived on being around other people. She wondered how the general populace reacted to his mask, and if he had often given them the chance.

Christine stood with the rest of the crowd in giving her standing ovation, but she hurried out of the box as soon as she thought wouldn't be impolite. She had to wait a few minutes before James came around with the car. Soon, she was able to eagerly climb inside, and she immediately spied the note sitting on the white leather seat next to her.

She broke the seal and read the familiar red inked handwriting:

 _Dearest, warm up your voice._

Christine's heart began to thunder with nervousness.

"Um, James?"

She had insisted earlier that he keep the partition at least somewhat open between them, and now he glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.

"Mademoiselle?"

"Would- would it bother you if I sang?"

He grinned. "I was promised you would!"

She reminded herself to kill Erik later. "Okay then." She closed her eyes and pushed aside her embarrassment. She really should have known Erik would work her singing into this adventure. She ran through some triads, then some scales, trying to remember snippets of what Erik had taught her so many weeks ago. After a little while of doing that, she sang bits and pieces of some of her favorite songs until she felt the car roll to a stop.

James opened the door, and she found him bowing at the waist. "A true pleasure to hear you, mademoiselle."

"T-thank you, James."

"This way, please." He indicated with a hand as she stepped out of the car, careful not to tangle in the train of her dress.

They had stopped between two buildings, the alley fading into the blackness of night, lit only by the oily glow of a single streetlight. Christine drew back. "Are you sure?"

"Monsieur Garnier was very insistent."

Christine swallowed and held onto her wristlet with both hands. Erik had surely paid a huge amount for this man's services, so she had to trust the situation to unfold the way it was supposed to happen.

She began to walk into the narrow alley, the bricked surfaces rising high to either side of her. The further she entered, the more she left behind the noise of the street and the city lights. Her heels clicked loudly on the pavement. Behind her, the Rolls Royce stayed, and she felt a little relieved that James hadn't abandoned her just yet.

She walked almost a full block when a door opened to her left, the sudden creak startling her. The hallway beyond stretched into more darkness. As she peered inside, she heard the soulful, slow pull of a violin start to play.

Gathering the dragging folds of her dress over one arm, she entered the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out more light ahead, and she followed it, the music becoming louder. She rounded a corner, made her way up a few wooden steps, and found a heavy curtain blocking her path. The violin was definitely coming from straight ahead.

Using her hands to feel around the velvety curtain, she found the edge and pushed it aside. A small stage spread before her. She must have entered the side entrance of a theater. She took in the rows of seats stretching from the stage; it wasn't a large theater, and the place was empty save the man standing on the stage, lit by a single spotlight.

Christine slowly made her way closer, not wanting to disturb him. He faced the seats, and he had draped his cloak and hat on a nearby chair to the side of the stage. She was mesmerized by the sight of his long bare fingers moving across the surfaces of the violin. His white mask shone in the light; his eyes were closed. She recognized the song; she had recognized it after the first few notes because it was one her father had often played as he toured. The Swedish folk song had been a favorite of his, and a favorite of hers.

The man standing before her was very different from the man who had been her father, but they both played with a passion that many would never reach. Christine had no idea Erik could play other instruments, and the fact that he had chosen one so dear to her heart… His towering frame swayed with the notes, his long limbs bending as his fingers pulled the song from the strings with ease, and she was reminded of a time she had watched her father play this very song on a stage the same size as this one, under the glare of spotlights and the hush of a full audience transfixed.

Her voice rose up, joining in. He didn't turn toward her, but she saw the shadow of a smile play across his lips. She was a little girl again, joining her father on the stage after his gentle insisting, singing a song in Swedish that her father had hummed since she was old enough to remember. He had left Sweden to purse his music and met her mother at a show, utterly by accident. He had been instantly smitten, he had told Christine, winking in that way he always did. Her mother had been smitten by the way he played, and maybe that is why when he died, she buried his violin, buried his music forever.

Christine didn't know how to speak Swedish, but she knew this song through and through. She hadn't sung it in years, but her voice remembered the notes and her tongue remembered the twists of the language.

When at last the song was over, Erik laid aside the violin and bow and came to stand before her. His hands, warmer than usual from his playing, cupped her cheeks, his thumbs smoothing away tears she didn't realize were there.

"I did not mean to make you cry."

She pressed a kiss to his palm, then stepped back a pace to dry her eyes with a handkerchief he produced. "No, no, that was beautiful. It's been years since I heard that song. How did you even know about it?"

"Here I must admit to long hours in your apartment, my dear," he said, the tiny smile back.

Her eyes widened. "You snooped?"

"Hardly snooping when you leave it on the shelf for all to see."

"I… guess I might have done that," she conceded.

He moved back to the violin and ran a hand across its smooth surface, musing. "I could not resist listening to a recording labeled with your father's name."

"He used to send that CD out to prospective employers. I was actually lucky enough to find the files on my mother's computer before she had the chance to delete them. That song was particularly meaningful to me – he used to sing it often."

"Your father played marvelously. He was quite talented."

Christine dabbed at her eyes again. "Thank you for saying that."

"Is it any wonder that he produced _you_?" Erik was so in earnest that she had to look away into the shadowed rows of seats. "Your voice is as lovely as I remember, Christine."

She walked to the edge of the stage, looking into the darkness. "What, no critiques about my stance or breathing?" She peered over her shoulder at him, smiling in case he thought she was upset.

"This is not a voice lesson, my dear, but merely a chance for us to sing together." He spread his arms wide, indicating the space around them. "Will you sing for me?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you have something in mind?"

He went to his cloak, pulled out a folded stack of paper, and handed it to her. "You read music, yes?"

"Yes, mostly." She smoothed out the three pieces of sheet music, all written in Erik's hand. His original works had always been covered in notations and changes, but this print was clean as though he had copied it legibly for her benefit. She glanced over it. "This only has my part."

Erik shifted his feet, as close to squirming as she'd seen him. "This is not meant to be a duet."

"You said _together_. You did say that. I want you to sing with me." She let him stew as she studied his composition once more. She read the notes first, completely through the piece, and the intricate arrangement of notes took her breath away. He really thought she could sing this? She read it through again, this time beginning to hum it, first very shaky and unsure, then again with a bit more confidence. It had been a long time since she had sight-read anything, much less something composed by the man standing before her.

After she felt more certain of the melody, she read the words as she hummed and when she got to the end, she jerked her head up to stare at Erik. Her voice hadn't carried the last note, strangled into silence by her own sudden trepidation.

He wasn't looking at her. As she had studied his music, he had turned to face the back of his stage so his face was bathed in shadow.

"Erik?"

"It is not meant to be a duet," he repeated.

She jutted out her chin, her back straight with sudden anger. "Why not?"

He still wouldn't look at her. He had given her a glimpse inside himself with this song, and now that she had read it, he couldn't face her. "I could never say those words to you."

"But you expected me to say them to you?" Her heels stomping across the wooden stage, she moved to stand in front of him and shoved the sheet music against his chest. "How could you try to do that to me?"

His eyes were wide, the golden irises glowing. "I meant it as a song of longing."

"It's a break-up song, Erik. The person singing that – she's leaving him. She's decided she's going and at the end, she does. How could you possibly think I would want to sing _this_ song at _this_ moment?" She would not cry over this, she most definitely would not. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sting.

Erik's hands hung at his sides, one fisting the papers. "I thought, if you sang these words in that angel's voice of yours, if you sang them to me first, then the speaking of them later, the moment you would leave, that is a moment which I could then withstand."

"Oh Erik, you are so damned infuriating!" She spun away from him, grateful that he didn't move to follow her because she wasn't sure what she would do or say if he reached for her. What kind of terrible logic had fired off within his head to make him think this was okay? When had he even had the time to compose this song?

She ached with the thought that he had so little faith in her, even now. Hadn't she come to New York at _his_ bidding? Hadn't she made him swear that _he_ was the one who had to say goodbye when the time came? Didn't that meant she expected him to be the one to leave?

She stalked over to the edge of the stage until her toes touched the curved rim of the wooden planks. Then she began to sing part of a song she knew he would recognize. She knew she was butchering the French, she knew she hadn't practiced the song in anything but her own head, as part of her research when she was trying to understand why Erik would leave her with those two lines from _Faust_.

She didn't care if he found the quality lacking. She held up her arm with its heavy bangle, diamonds glittering in the spotlight, and gazed into her imaginary mirror like Marguerite.

 _"It's the daughter of a king,_

 _It's no longer you._

 _One must bow to her as she passes!"_

"Christine." She heard Erik's choked gasp of her name, but she ignored it.

 _"Ah if only he were here!_

 _If he should see me thus like a lady_

 _He would find me so beautiful like a lady."_

"Christine!"

 _"He would find me beautiful!"_

His hand grabbed her upper arm and spun her around, both of her shoulders then clasped tightly in his grip. His hands were cold again – was music the only thing that could warm him? He had reacted exactly the way she thought he would – with shock and horror at what she had sung. She might have laughed if it weren't for his face twisted in undisguised pain.

He shook her and her teeth rattled from the force. "Stop it, Christine!"

"Isn't that what you expected, Erik? Marguerite receives so many lovely jewels from Faust, and in return, she gives him a kiss. And in return, she gives him _everything_. But in the twist of your song, I would be the one to leave afterward, not you. I would wake up in the bright light of morning, and _what,_ Erik?"

She had to stop herself from speaking aloud the truth of what they both thought at that moment, the words thick like bile in her throat. In the light of the morning after, would she flee at the sight of him? He was trembling, his whole body shaking with the force of her words and the reality of what she had put together. Had he really thought to make her his Marguerite – whored out for some baubles? His hands hadn't left her shoulders as though afraid she would flee if he let go.

"I made a mistake," he said, his body coiled with tension. "I thought you would find the song pretty enough to sing, and the words I would keep for my own memory in case I needed them. I was wrong."

She glared at him, defiant. "And the gifts?"

He shifted, looking away, then meeting her eyes again. Clearly, the subject still made him dreadfully uncomfortable. Well, it wasn't an easy table conversation for her either.

"I wanted to please you, to treat you well. That is all I wanted or expected."

She searched his face, looking for any sign that he was hiding his true intentions from her. She wished briefly that she had the gall to take off his mask in that moment, so she could fully read his expression, but she flattened her hands against her gown in case she was tempted.

She finally decided to concede. "I'm sorry for comparing you to Faust. That wasn't fair of me."

He inclined his head though he still seemed pensive. She wondered if some unspoken line had been crossed between them. She wished she could go back in time and erase the last five minutes.

"Would you play for me again?" she asked, gesturing at the violin. "Anything at all. I loved hearing you."

He thought for a span of time that was too long for her comfort. Then he strode over to the instrument, picked it up, and began to play. She wasn't familiar with the song, its melody slow and mournful. She thought maybe he was playing his emotions out; he had certainly found music to be his outlet in the past, and she remembered the furious way he had pounded upon the piano as she left his home in Paris.

She was content to listen to him, and he was content enough to play for her, at least until the growl of her stomach cut through the notes.

She pressed a hand to her belly, mortified. "Sorry, Erik."

"No need," he said, frowning. "It is late, and you need to eat."

She was indeed very hungry. She hadn't eaten anything substantial since lunch, which felt like ages ago, and her last snack had been an hour before the opera began. Erik laid aside the violin and fetched his cloak and hat, replacing both on his person with his usual grace before pulling on his gloves. Then he climbed the stage and outstretched a hand, beckoning.

"James is waiting," he said. "He will bring you anywhere you wish to eat."

She didn't follow him. "Aren't you coming too?"

"Aren't I?" Erik swept his hand to indicate the room. "After this, you want to end the night, yes?"

After the mess with his composition and her subsequent accusations, he meant. She shook her head. "I didn't come all this way to go home early, Erik. I came here to spend time with you."

"You… do not want to leave?" The hope in his voice saddened her. She shouldn't have flipped out as much as she had over the song. He had, after all, wanted her to sing something he had written, and she had thrown it in his face.

"No, I don't."

This time, when he indicated that she should follow, she did, taking his gloved hand and letting him lead her back into the night.

* * *

They moved only through alleys and back roads, ducking between street lights and pressing themselves into black corners when it was necessary to avoid other people. Erik knew exactly how to move from one place to another without being detected, though she suspected he might be able to do so quicker without her.

Heels weren't exactly the best footwear for walking a long distance across uneven concrete, but Erik didn't suggest she climb inside the car with James again. After the second time she stumbled and had to grab onto his arm to keep from falling, he paused and took a long look at her.

"This was not my plan," he admitted.

She gave a little laugh. "I don't mind. I like skulking about at night with you. Do you always travel like this?"

"As necessary," he replied, which was probably always. "You are cold."

"Only a little."

Without asking for permission, he gathered her into his arms, managing to both pull her train off the ground and drape his cloak over her shoulders in one smooth motion. Then he was off, running with a quick ease that might have been astonishing if she didn't already know his strength.

He dashed about five more blocks before setting her upon her feet in front of the back door to some unknown place. From the delectable smells waffling her way, she guessed it was a restaurant. Her stomach rumbled again in appreciation.

"What's on the menu?" she asked, beyond ready to eat.

"French."

She threw back her head and laughed at that. Of course.

Luckily, he didn't seem to take offense at her humor. He pulled open the door for her and bowed. "After you, my dear."

As he followed her inside, he pulled a rope attached to the wall near the door. A tinkling bell sounded as though announcing their arrival. Erik placed a finger to his lips to indicate she should be quiet, then took her hand and led her through what looked like a storage room into a large restaurant-style kitchen. The workers inside stood at attention but facing away from them. Christine found the whole scene utterly bizarre, but she didn't have much time to look at the spectacle as Erik pulled her down a short hallway to a closed curtain.

He drew back the curtain, showing her an enclosed table set for two, lit by a beautiful small candelabrum that hung above them. Another curtain was closed on the other side, and through it, she could hear the distant sounds of a bustling restaurant.

Christine could barely hold back her excitement as she sat down and watched Erik take his place in front of her. She knew she was probably grinning like an idiot, but Erik's face was alight with pleasure at her reaction.

As soon as he had closed the curtain behind them, and they were completely closed off, she had to lean over the table and whisper, "You brought me to a real restaurant to have dinner with you!"

"No need to whisper," he said in a normal tone of voice, his lips curved upward in that way she loved. "They were expecting us."

"Obviously!"

He tugged on a cord behind him, no doubt ringing another bell. A short minute later, a waiter appeared at the table on the restaurant side. He didn't open the curtain, but spoke in a heavy French accent.

"Monsieur?"

"Your best red and a menu for the lady," Erik said smoothly. It was the first time Christine had ever heard him speak to someone other than Nadir, and the weirdly normal moment mystified her.

Reaching through the middle opening of the velvet fabric, the waiter slid a menu before Christine. She caught sight of a young blonde man who smiled and kept his eyes carefully adverted from Erik's direction.

"Thank you," she told the waiter, who nodded and headed off, likely to get the wine.

Christine glanced over the menu. "Le Nuit?"

"The Night," Erik translated as he pulled off his gloves and laid them aside. He also took off his hat and set it on the small bench next to him, and his cloak followed. "This is a French restaurant that stays open rather late at night."

"You've been here before, I take it?"

"I used to frequent here when I lived in New York, but that was many years ago. I did contact them recently when I returned."

She smiled at him. "You have a nice set up. We'll have to leave a big tip!"

"My Christine." He leaned his bare cheek against the back of his hand, gazing at her with undisguised adoration. "I own this restaurant."

"You do!"

The waiter returned and set a bottle of wine on the table along with a corkscrew. "Would you like any hors d'oeuvres to begin?"

"Try the baked clams with garlic butter," Erik said to Christine. "Daroga says they are quite delicious."

"That sounds great," Christine agreed. "And the boneless trout with raspberry vinegar butter sauce. I haven't had fish in a while."

"Excellent choices, mademoiselle," the waiter said, and he scurried off again.

Christine watched Erik as he deftly opened the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. "You aren't eating anything?"

"For me, food is fuel and nothing more, my dear," he said. He tapped his mask with one long finger. "My deformity prevented me from developing a strong sense of smell. Therefore, I do not taste food the way you do." He hesitated and gave her a long, measured look. "I will… try your dishes, if you like."

Christine's first urge was to squeal in delight, but she settled for hiding her wide grin with her first sip of wine. "I would love that." She took another gulp; the wine was delicious. "How did you end up owning a restaurant anyway?"

"I have acquired many assets over my years and travels, especially in businesses and property. In my experience, I never know when I will have need to call in a favor or have a safe place to stay." He took a draught of his own glass, mindful of his mask. "I can show you more of them, over time."

"That would be lovely." She huffed a sigh. "And here I'm still focusing on paying rent every month."

"You are still quite young, Christine. You have your whole life ahead of you."

"You're not _that_ much older, are you?" She squinted at him. "At least thirty, right?"

"At least," he said dryly but with humor. "In lieu of a birth certificate, or a date of birth for that matter, I would estimate between thirty-five and forty."

"Erik-"

He shook his head. "No matter to fret over, my dear. I have managed well enough as a ghost."

"Yes, this place is terrific, and your home underground was magnificent as well. But, Erik." She chewed on her lip and twisted the napkin in her lap. "Is your plan to live like this forever? For the rest of your life?"

"Like what, my dear?"

She swallowed another gulp of wine, not wanting to anger him. "In the dark, in the night, away from other people, like the way you were when we first met."

"As I said, I have managed well enough."

"Yes, but are you _happy_?"

"Life is not about concerning yourself with happiness, Christine," he said frankly, all joking gone. "You live, you die, and somewhere in between, you might have a moment of magnificence worth singing about."

She couldn't meet the sudden coldness in his yellow eyes, but she couldn't make herself stop pushing either. "I don't want one thing in my life to be magnificent. I want _all_ of it to be magnificent, all of it to be worth singing about, or composing a song about."

"As magnificent as your chosen career will be?"

Oh, that was a nasty blow that he so often dredged into the open. The waiter arrived with her appetizer, and the baked clams smelled heavenly. Erik was glaring at her from across the table, but she didn't let that deter her from digging into her food with relish. She was famished, and by god, she would eat even if he had just pissed her off.

"Christine."

She swallowed her bite and patted her lips dry. "Look, Erik, I get it. You see some hidden potential in me that I still don't really see myself, even though maybe I do want to despite how much I've told myself to leave singing in the past. But that doesn't give you the right to tell me to do something else."

He leaned forward, insistent. "One month of my instruction, Christine, one month, followed by one audition, and the world would swiftly learn to bow before your feet."

She scoffed and speared a forkful of clam, dipping it in the butter sauce.

"That is all I would need to show you," he continued. "One month followed by one audition. You would shine on that stage, Christine. No one has heard a voice such as yours in a hundred years."

He stopped, for she had leaned over the table and stuck the fork of food in his face. "You said you would try a bite."

"I… did." He took the fork from her, momentarily distracted from his rant. She watched, fascinated, as he carefully slid the morsel into his mouth, keeping it slightly askew to the unblemished side of his lips. He managed to chew with his lips closed, though it seemed like a practiced move to avoid any trouble. He wiped his mouth clean with the napkin and handed the fork back to her. "Satisfied?"

She had been staring too much, but she grinned at him anyway. "Very. Thanks for that. Sharing a meal with you has been on my list."

"Your list?"

"Of things I want to share." She quickly returned to shoveling the food into her own mouth, leaving him dumbfounded into silence. Luckily, he was too unsure to pursue the matter further, and he had been successfully diverted from talking about her singing.

Soon enough, her main course arrived. The raspberry sauce was everything she had dreamed about, and the trout was perfectly flaky and tender. Erik obediently tried a bite as promised. She started on her second glass of wine, and with her belly full of food and drink, she was starting to relax more and more. The two of them had survived several uncomfortable moments without either of them fleeing the room over the course of the night. She considered the night a huge step in the right direction.

She hoped he would escort her back to the hotel. Maybe he would kiss her again? Maybe she would kiss him? The small touch of lips on lips they had shared at the opera had only left her wanting more. How much more, she still wasn't sure yet, but maybe they could find out.

When she had finished her trout, Erik raised a brow at her. "Dessert, my dear?"

"If that's all right. I would love to try the crème brûlée." She grinned at him. "You can tell a lot about a French restaurant by how it treats its dessert."

Erik tugged on the rope to ring the bell for the waiter. It didn't take long for him to appear, a shadow on the other side of the curtain. When he didn't immediately ask what they wanted, Christine opened her mouth to give her order, but she never had a chance.

Erik lunged, his whole body rising from the bench, his white hands flashing in the candlelight. Christine caught a glimpse of a familiar lasso of red rope before it slipped over the waiter's head. Erik pulled him into their space, falling back across his bench, tugging the other man backwards by his neck until both of them were sprawled into the empty hallway opposite of the public dining room of the restaurant.

Christine stifled her shriek with her hand. "Oh my god, Erik!"

Erik crouched behind the other man, whose face was rapidly turning red from the red punjab that encircled his neck, and gazed at Christine with cool composure. "Collect my belongings, head back to the kitchen, and tell them Monsieur Garnier needs to pass."

"Erik, that man-"

"Now, Christine!" he snapped.

Her hands shaking, she did as he asked, first sliding her own clutch across her wrist, then gathering his cloak, hat, and gloves into her arms. Stumbling on wobbling legs, she made her way back to the restaurant's kitchen and stopped the first staff member she met.

"M-Monsieur Garnier needs to pass, please."

"Of course," he said, as though she had asked for extra silverware.

As he hurried off, Christine made her way back to Erik, who had the man back on his feet. Without a word, he pulled the man along, half dragging him, easily avoiding any attempts at weak kicking or clawing. When they entered the kitchen, everyone was standing at attention once more, and the scene was grotesque – no doubt renowned chefs showing respect for their restaurant owner who was in the process of strangling a man.

In the longest seconds of Christine's life, they made it out the back door and into the darker alleyway. As soon as the door slammed shut behind them, Erik loosened the punjab enough for the man to gasp for breath.

"Who told you where I would be?" he asked the man, shoving his face close, yellow eyes blazing with fury.

The man didn't immediately answer. Erik fisted his hands on either side of his neck and jerked the noose of the punjab tight, again cutting off his air supply. He let the man gurgle for a while, and then loosened the rope again, asking the same question. As before, he got no answer, and the punjab squeezed once more.

Christine clutched Erik's wadded lump of belongings to her chest. She was caught in indecision, poised between screaming at Erik to stop and fleeing for help. What would Erik do if she took off running?

She had no idea why Erik had grabbed this man. She looked them both over with wide, frightened eyes. The man was not their waiter, that was obvious; while their waiter had been a Frenchman with blonde hair, dressed in a sharp black suit, this was a taller black-haired man with a thick beard who wore a white button-down shirt folded to the elbows. Erik was unrecognizable from the man she had been dining with – his golden eyes ablaze, and he surged power that she hadn't sensed since the time he had tried to strangle Nadir Khan.

She had to say something; she had to try to stop him. No matter who this man was, she couldn't stand by while Erik did something horrible.

"Erik," she pleaded. "You have to stop. You have to let him go!"

Erik let the man breathe a third time, and this time, the man grinned through the spittle in his mouth. "Listen to your whore, Angel of Doom," he said, his words hoarsely forced through his bruised throat.

Erik kicked the back of his legs, causing the man to fall forward onto his knees. "How did you know my location?"

"Rot in hell like the corpse you are," the man rasped, and cackled with laughter.

The punjab snapped, cutting off the man's laugh with a sickening crunch, causing his head to jerk to the side. Christine stumbled back in shock, tripped over the uneven pavement, and landed heavily on her backside. The objects in her arms scattered around her, Erik's cloak fluttering like a bat's wing over her legs.

She was desperately trying not to scream. The awkward angle of the man's neck met her panicked eyes, and she shut them tightly, attempting to get her breathing under control before the looming panic attack fully surfaced.

She heard the body slump to the ground, for that was all it was now, a body that Erik had created. Erik, who had taken her to the opera and dinner tonight like it was a _date_. Erik, who had kissed her sweetly and called her beautiful. She heard Erik walk over to her, heard the motions of him pulling on his gloves, replacing his hat, and she felt him pull the cloak from her legs. The flutter of the heavy fabric caressed her cheek as he fastened it at his neck.

"Christine, we need to move on from here." How could he sound so calm, like he hadn't just strangled the life from someone? His voice was steady.

She cracked open her eyes. Erik's gloved hand was offered to her. Past him, she saw the body stretched upon the concrete, the man's face turned away from her, but that didn't matter because she had _seen_ it, the moment the life had left his dark brown eyes.

Christine turned away from Erik and retched. Up it all came as her stomach heaved, the acid burning her throat and making her eyes stream tears. Erik was silent, but he didn't try to touch her again. She didn't know what she would have done if he had at that moment.

When she was finally empty, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You killed him."

"I did. He would have done the same to us."

"But he _didn't_. You just- you just-" She cut off as Erik pulled out his cell phone and placed a call, effectively ignoring her.

"Daroga," he said, all calm steeliness. "We have been compromised. Get here now." He listened a moment. "That will suffice." With the heel of his shoe, he pushed the body to the side of the building, out of the empty stretch of the alley. Then he turned back to her. He didn't present his hand to help her up again, but he did pick up her clutch from where it had dropped a few feet away and offered it back to her.

She took it, unable to meet his intense stare, and got to her feet.

"We have to go," Erik said.

He turned and began to walk down the alley in long strides. Christine picked up the train of her dress and unwillingly followed.


	13. Chapter 13

**This fic has now reached 80 reviews. So exciting to be so close to 100! I'm dying to know what all of you think of this chapter!**

 **Lots to happen here - onward!**

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Erik's pace was brutal, and Christine struggled to keep up without having to actually run after him. Like their path to the restaurant, they kept to the deepest shadows, twisting and turning through abandoned alleyways. She felt a blister start to form on one of her heels. She would probably have more in the morning. Not once did Erik speak to her or look at her. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, the taste of bile still present.

Finally, they turned a corner and a black SUV sat in the darkness, the engine running but the headlights turned off. The windows were tinted too dark for Christine to see the driver from the side, but this didn't concern Erik at all. He stalked to the car and opened the door to the backseat.

"Get in."

She did, knowing better than to argue. A dark head belonged to the person in the driver's seat. As she slid across the leather, Erik leaned down, flattened one hand on her head, and shoved her downward.

"Keep your head down, girl," he snapped before slamming the door closed.

The driver lowered his window so he could speak with Erik. She immediately recognized Nadir's voice, and she relaxed just a fraction.

"What happened?" he asked Erik.

"An Iranian nationalist knew I would be at the restaurant," Erik said, agitated, his eyes scanning around them as though thinking they would be attacked at any moment.

"Just the one?"

"Yes, _just_ the one," Erik sneered.

Nadir ignored the nasty tone with practiced ease. "Did he say anything?"

"Only the usual insults."

"Where is he now?"

"I assure you, I took care of him, but there will be more. Daroga…" Here Erik dropped the attitude for a moment, leaning toward the window. "Only three of us knew I was in New York." He held up one white finger, then a second. "Myself. You."

"Erik-"

"You are not that stupid." Erik dismissed the idea of Nadir's betrayal without another thought. For a brief second, Christine envied the trust Erik had in his friend. He was always so guarded around her as if he expected betrayal. Would he ever believe in her the way he did Nadir?

Erik held up a third finger. "Darius."

Darius, the man who had followed Nadir from Iran, the one Nadir had known longer than he had known Erik? Christine remembered Erik once telling her that Darius was a trustworthy man, that they had trusted him with intelligence and finances, at least on the East Coast, for years.

Nadir sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Do what you must."

Erik stepped back from the car, his tall form melting into the shadows. "Get Christine to safety."

Nadir turned on the car's headlights and pulled them out of the alley. Christine stayed bent down into the seat as Erik had demanded, and her angle let her catch a glimpse of the clock on the radio. It was almost 1 o'clock in the middle of the night. Classical music poured from the radio, turned down so low she hadn't heard it at first.

Once they had merged with the rest of traffic, for the big city's streets were never really empty, Nadir glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.

"Are you hurt?" he asked quietly.

"No." She wasn't, physically, though she longed to take off these shoes. She held her tongue. There were far worse things to deal with than the state of her feet.

"What happened?" He was repeating the same question he had asked Erik, hoping for what she had seen herself. But there was no sense in hiding what had happened from Nadir. He would get details one way or another.

"A man showed up at our table, and Erik attacked him," she said. She couldn't bear repeating the things the man had said to Erik, calling him Angel of Doom, a corpse. "Erik killed him with his punjab."

Nadir was silent for a long time as he drove, his large hands white-knuckled as he gripped the steering wheel. Christine's feet throbbed. She sat partially on her clutch so the wrist strap dug into her skin, but she didn't dare shift to free it. Her neck was beginning to ache from the awkward angle. She couldn't see out the window, so she watched the streetlights flicker across the interior of the car as Nadir drove.

"Where are we going?" she asked, unable to tolerate the silence any longer.

"Right now, I am driving a set pattern to make sure we are not being followed. After another hour, I will take you to a safe house of sorts. We can wait for Erik there."

"Not the hotel?" She desperately wanted out of this dress. She now felt so ridiculous dressed up in this fancy gown that Erik had chosen to her, wearing his diamonds, letting him take her out on the town before he would murder someone. Plus, the hotel felt safe, someplace that was separate from the events of the night, even if the room was in Erik's fake name.

"If Darius did betray us, we can't take any chances, Miss Daaé. This apartment was paid for with cash a long time ago, outside of Darius's knowledge. You will be safe there. Later, once things settle, we will retrieve your belongings."

She didn't argue, knowing she had no choice in the matter. Lulled to silence by the gentle motion of the car, she eased down until her cheek pressed against the cool leather of the seat. She hadn't cried yet though she kept expecting the tears to come. Of course she had known of Erik's past, of course he had told her himself that he had once killed people. But he had made it sound like he'd had no choice in the matter, that he fled the country once he was able to escape his life as an assassin. How easily she had ignored reality when it wasn't right there in front of her.

Nadir drove on, and eventually, he stopped the car. Christine cautiously rose up to peer out the window; they were inside a parking garage, parked in a dark spot away from other cars. He opened her door and helped her out, and she didn't protest this, welcoming the warmth of his friendly hands. Nadir seemed like the type of man who defaulted to father figure, and the role suited him well.

"This way, Miss Daaé." He led her to an elevator, and they climbed all the way to the top of the building, sixteen stories up.

The elevator door opened to a hallway covered in expensive-looking wallpaper that stretched to a window on the opposite side. On either side of the hallway stood a door, one with 1636a, the other with 1636b in bronze lettering on the decorative nameplate.

Nadir walked to 1636a and unlocked the door, leading her inside. The air conditioning was on, and Christine shivered against the onslaught of the cold air on her bare arms. Her stilettos clicked on the dark hardwood floors. Everything was shiny and expensive, from the marble countertops to the black leather couches to the sparse but opulent furnishings. The place was immaculate, barely lived in.

"This place belongs to Erik," Nadir said. "Mine is next door, but I will wait here with you until he arrives. Can I get you anything?"

"Where's the bathroom?"

He showed her the guest room, separated by a short hallway from the master. The large room was filled with solid furniture all in dark woods, the floor partially covered in a plush white rug.

"There are extra toiletries in there if you have need. I'm afraid there are no clothes for you."

So she would have to sleep in this dress after all, unless she wanted to be left in nothing but her underwear. She shuddered at the thought of putting on one of Erik's shirts again. He probably had his own belongings in the master bedroom, they had been here in New York for a few days, but she didn't dare change into something of his.

She murmured a thanks and shut herself inside the bathroom. She wanted a very hot shower. She wanted her own fresh clothing and her own bed in Boston. She wanted to forget this night ever happened. Her clutch was still dangling from her wrist, and in it was her cell phone. She could easily call Meg, call her mother, call the _police_ , and this would all be over.

Instead, she found a spare toothbrush and brushed her teeth, finally getting rid of the taste of bile. She washed her face with a bar of soap, and afterwards, stared at her reflection, startled by the terrible haggardness of her tired face. Who was this girl in the mirror, who hung around these sorts of people and couldn't seem to stay away? What kind of person would witness a murder and not think about using her cell phone to call 911 until over an hour later?

She went back into the guest bedroom. She pulled the comb free of her hair and slid off the heavy cuff, setting both on the dresser. After a moment of hesitation, she set her purse down as well. The bed was plush, no doubt the finest quality, and she ached to slide between the sheets and fall asleep. Her feet rejoiced as she took off her heels and set them aside, before she scooted backward and laid her whole body upon the mattress.

She lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, before hearing a knock on the door.

"Miss Daaé?" Nadir called.

"Come in." Like she could stop him.

"I didn't wake you?" He put a glass of water on the nightstand. "Try to sleep if you can. I don't know how long Erik will be gone."

"How long it will take him to kill more people, you mean." He gave one of his long-suffering sighs. She rose up on her elbows to glare at him. "That is what he's doing right now, isn't it?"

"Yes." Nadir spread out both of his hands, his round face asking for understanding in this. She would give him none. "He'll use Darius to find out who else knows he's here, and then he will wipe them all out."

My god. "You knew what Erik would do when he left us, yet you let him go off do it!"

"Could I have stopped him? Do you think he would have listened to me?" She had never really seen Nadir angry, and she had certainly never seen that anger turned toward her. But now the older Iranian was jutting a pointing finger in the direction of the door, his usually kind face livid. "That man thinks of nothing but _you_ – he does nothing now except in _your_ name. If I had suggested he put aside his bloodlust and let them live, you would have seen a lovely repeat of Paris." She didn't need him pressing his own hand to his throat for demonstration. She understood what he meant.

 _That man thinks of nothing but you_.

Christine shook her head. "Erik only has his own interests in mind. That much is obvious! He does whatever he feels like without considering anyone else's feelings. For that matter, I'm a witness to a crime. How do I even know you'll let me go home?"

"Have you not been listening to a word I said?" Nadir threw up his arms in exasperation. "I apologize, but I can't talk anymore about this. Ask Erik himself if you want to know more." He marched out of the room, closing the door behind him. Presently, she heard the TV click on.

Christine dropped herself back onto the bed and dug her knuckles into her eyes, trying to stop from crying from sheer force of will. Erik was out there – hurting other people, _killing_ other people – for her? How could Nadir say such a thing? How could Erik believe she would want any of this nightmare?

She laid there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep would not find her.

* * *

She heard the soft open and close of the front door, and she jerked upward into a sitting position. Her body protested, too sore from laying still for so long. At some point, she had dozed off. No daylight was starting to peak through the blinds, so it must still be late. She swung her feet off the bed, wincing at the pain of weight on her feet, and moved to the door.

"I expected Russians." Erik's voice made her pause before opening the bedroom door. He sounded… wrong, his voice not quite his usual smooth quality. "They could have paid off Darius, and this had their kind of stench, but it was Shah loyalists after all."

"How many?" Nadir asked, laden with some kind of heavy emotion.

"Seven that knew the immediate plot. Darius kindly took me straight to their den after I… persuaded him. We cannot guarantee that this will not spread. I likely bought us some time, but there will be more to deal with."

Christine heard him walk across the room, clink glass on glass, and pour something. She would guess a drink of some kind. She should go into the living room, but they would never speak so candidly if she was there.

"How far will you pursue this?" Nadir asked.

A pause, maybe as Erik drank. "Don't you mean _us_ , my dear Daroga?"

A weighty sigh. "You know I do. But these ties run deep, my friend, blood runs deep between these people. We are dealing with the sons of men who will never stop pursuing the past, and they can't let it go. And if you have truly severed the hand they had established on this continent, then more will swarm out to follow. This may take _years_."

"I have to keep her safe." Erik's voice contained an emotion Christine had never heard, one he had never used around her. She was highly aware of her eavesdropping at that moment. She should go to the bathroom, maybe, and stop herself from hearing things not meant for her ears.

But Nadir changed the subject, taking on a new edge. "I must ask, Erik. Where is Darius now?"

Christine pictured them staring at each other from across the room.

"In the trunk," Erik replied, almost too softly for her to hear. "I left him for you."

Nadir murmured something under his breath in another language – Persian, she guessed. A prayer, a curse. They were both quiet, so she decided to open the bedroom door. Immediately, both men turned to look at her, and she felt a flush heat her face. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, nothing at all. She stepped into the living room, chin up.

Erik stood near the unlit fireplace, one elbow on the mantle, the other hand holding an empty glass. A decanter of bourbon was nearby. He had taken off his hat and gloves, but he still wore his cloak. His posture was bent, the unmasked portion of his face weary, his shoes caked with mud. His yellow eyes swept up and down her form, from her messed up hair, to her rumpled blue gown, to her bare feet.

"You should be asleep," he said.

She crossed her arms, daring him to send her to bed like a child. He looked away from her to Nadir, who rubbed both hands across his face, the very picture of grief.

"I will take care of it, as I should," the older man said. "And then I'm going to my own bed. Miss Daaé, I will pick you up after lunch to take you back to Boston." He shook his head. "Leave me to my misery until then."

Christine thought she was going to be sick again. She should call out to him, stop him, tell him to call the police and let them deal with the man in the trunk – his _friend_ , in the trunk. She did nothing, only watched him leave with hunched shoulders and dragging feet.

Erik poured another glass of bourbon and downed it in one gulp. The white expanse of his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Go to bed, Christine."

"No."

She strode over to him, highly aware of the smolder of his gaze, and took the empty glass from his own hand. Pouring herself a portion, she tossed it back. The amber liquid burned all the way down. She remembered his words ages ago, after he had threatened to strangle Nadir. _"Don't test me tonight, Christine. My hands have just tasted the intersect between life and death, and I fear what I may do."_

She made to pour herself another drink, but he stopped her, taking the decanter away and capping it. She glared at him, feeling safer within the bubble of her anger. Erik had killed a man right in front of her, and Nadir had the gall to say it was all in the name of protecting her, as though she had used the punjab herself.

Despite his obvious weariness, Erik exuded barely-restrained power. Without her high-heels, she felt even smaller beside him. His bulky cloak gave him a dominant presence that threatened to suck the strength from her, while her naked arms and shoulders only reminded her that she was still dressed in a gown _he_ had chosen for her, plunging back and all.

"I am a dangerous man, Christine," he said.

"Right this moment, or always?"

He growled at her flippant words, and she felt the sound in the soles of her feet. She didn't move away, however. She must truly be insane. Instead, she looked him over head to toe. His wig was slightly ruffled, his shoulders two long sloping lines of fatigue. Dear god, what had he done tonight? He had dressed impeccably for their evening together, with a bow tie at his throat instead of his usual cravat. His black suit, while now rumpled from activity, cut his slender form perfectly.

When her eyes landed on his middle, she gasped with fright. "Erik, you're bleeding!" His left side glistened with an unmistakable sheen just above the waist of his pants.

"It is of no concern." He caught her searching hand in a tight grip that encircled her wrist. "Leave it, Christine."

"Let me help," she pleaded. "Please." If she did nothing, he would likely ignore the wound. He didn't have the best record of taking care of himself, and this was more than a split lip or the chafing of his mask. This could be serious. She swallowed. "Please, Erik."

His lips thinned as he frowned at her. "Why?"

"You know why, damn it," she cried. "Now take off those shoes before you track mud everywhere and get in your room. Now!" She didn't wait for a reply, turning on her heel and stalking off to his bedroom. She threw open the door and strode inside – the room looked much like her own, the bed seemingly unused.

Heading into his bathroom for supplies, she rooted around and found a rather comprehensive medical kit under the sink. She filled a bowl with warm water and stacked several towels and washcloths nearby on the bed.

After a while, Erik followed. He had shed his cloak and shoes, as commanded, and stood there in his black dress socks, his jaw clenched. Fine, he could be mad at her as long as he cooperated.

"I'm going to look at your wound," she said. "Don't move."

"Of course, mademoiselle."

She ignored his sour tone. His suit coat was already unbuttoned, so she was able to push it off his broad shoulders with relative ease. She let it fall to the wooden floor, not wanting to get blood on anything fabric. The circle of blood was more obvious through his vest. She reached up to unbutton the vest, starting at the middle of his chest, and he still didn't stop her as she pulled it off.

She had never undressed a man before, and she tried not to think about what she was doing. This was to clean and bandage his wound – nothing more. She wouldn't be able to fully see the damage if she merely pushed up his white shirt. He raised his head to give her better access to his bowtie. Her fingers fiddled with it a bit too long before she finally figured out how to unloosen it enough to pull it over his head; he bent to let her do so.

It was when she reached the top button of his dress shirt that he settled his hands atop hers, a gentle touch that startled her. She tried not to jerk back from that pressure, from those hands that had killed so many tonight. If he had applied any harder of force, she might have screamed.

"You do not have to do this," he said quietly. "You do not have to _go through_ this."

"I can handle a little blood, Erik."

He shifted his feet, looking at some spot over her shoulder. "No, I mean – the state of this body. You should not have to see this body, which has been different from birth, which has weathered many… atrocities."

Her heart broke for him. She wasn't sure if her next words were the right ones, but she needed to tell him. "I've already seen."

"W-what?" He hadn't let go of her hands. If she retreated from his touch now, he might truly break apart. Was she the one trembling right now?

"When you first came to my apartment and took a bath. I-I knocked on the door to give you some clothes, but you didn't answer. I opened it and saw your back, just your back, and I quickly closed the door again." She shook off his hands, which fell to his sides. "Now, let me see your wound before you bleed all over the place."

He didn't impede her again as her fingers worked the buttons from his throat to his navel, revealing expanses of pale skin. She reached the waistband of his pants, and steeling herself against any awkward thoughts, she tugged his shirt free and unbuttoned the last two. His shirt peeled away from his wound, an angry red gash in his side just above a prominent hip bone. Her hands shaking slightly, she pushed the white shirt off and let it fall onto the rest of the heap.

She remembered the crisscrossing scars she had seen on his back and shoulders, and some of those curled around his chest and stomach now. His arms and shoulders bore the worst of the damage on his front. A large puckered scar covered the area over his heart, and it must have been an almost fatal injury. He had an old gash across his stomach and several bullet holes that had healed into flat red scars.

He was beautiful.

His body, lean as she expected, fell from strong, expansive shoulders to narrow hips. Ribs jutted outward, but he was all sinewy muscle, all strength and dark power, packed into pale skin. Christine blinked, for a moment lost in an image of his body above hers as he took what she had never given anyone else, all that hardness against her, within her.

She blinked again, the image gone. This was a man who had killed seven people today, eight counting the one at the restaurant. She couldn't let herself come undone at the mere sight of him.

"How can you look?" he said softly.

"I've seen scars, remember," she replied, trying not to sound bitter and probably failing. Exhaustion was setting in. She needed to get him cleaned up before she either passed out or made a terrible mistake. "Sit on the bed," she ordered, and began to spread out the items she might need.

Erik obediently took a spot on the satiny black comforter. He leaned back onto his elbows so she could more easily reach his side, his long legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Dipping a washcloth into the water, she began to dab at the wound, steadily cleaning off the excess blood. Now that she had a good look, she could see that while the gash was long, it wasn't very deep.

She glanced up at his face, and his expression was unreadable. "Bullet or knife?" she asked.

"Bullet." His voice was gruff. "Been a while since I took on that many at once. I have gotten sloppy."

"You're alive," she retorted. "I'd say you did well enough."

Once the whole area was clean, she took a piece of bandage and pressed it to the length of the wound. "I'm going to hold this on here until I'm sure the bleeding has stopped. If it doesn't, you'll need stitches." Oh, all those hospital shows were paying off now.

"Very well," he murmured.

She settled onto the bed next to him, keeping her palm flat against the bandage. Her fingertips reached over the top of the dressing, skimming across his bare skin. She was well aware of the warmth of his belly under her palm, the warmth of his whole body washing over her, so different from his usual coolness. His scent invaded her senses, his own masculinity strong after his exertion. His heartbeat thundered in her ears, or was that her heartbeat, and oh god, he must be able to hear her heartbeat for they were only inches apart. His stomach twitched under her hand; her fingers were way too close to the dip of his waist that disappeared into his pants. Like his head, his body lacked much hair, but a wisp of light curls gathered at his naval and traveled downward.

She whipped her eyes up, meeting his own wide stare. His chest rose and fell with quicker breaths. With sudden clarity, she was aware of her own position, half leaning over him, their thighs all but touching, her bare arm brushing against his.

"I'll check it now!" she said, sounding too loud. She peered under the bandage and found only a little fresh blood, and that relieved her on so many levels. Grabbing the roll of gauze, she taped one end to the bandage and began to unroll it around his side. He lifted his arms to give her space, and suddenly, this was all a horrible idea. She had no choice but to lean further into him to wound the gauze around his body and back around to the other side. Quicker than she should have, she made another pass, stuck on another piece of tape, and swung away from him.

She couldn't face him, couldn't see what expression was in those infinite golden depths. She felt herself start to shake. Maybe she was finally going into shock. She had done that once after her first operation, waking up to find her entire body shivering uncontrollably as it fought the sleep-inducing drugs with adrenaline.

"Forgive me," she heard him choke out a moment before his fingers caressed the nakedness of her back. His touch, normally so cold, burned across her skin, down to the small of her back, and up to the curve of her neck. She gasped and hugged her arms against her body, enflamed by the feel of his hand.

The tips of his long fingers slipped along the blade of her shoulder, dipping into the side of her dress.

"How can you touch me now?" She jerked around to face him, tears clouding her vision.

His hand left her, forming into a fist. "How can I not, Christine?" his voice deeply husky. Gone was the point of silence. "The feel of your skin is seared into my mind, and I want more of it, always more of the feel of your softness. Even now I want more than kisses, more than touches. Even now, I want your body against mine, Christine."

She shook her head, not wanting to hear these words. "His dead eyes are seared into _my_ mind," she whispered. "You laid him at my feet like- like a cat might a bird it caught."

"Like an _animal_?" he sudden spat, rising up on a knee, towering over her on the bed. "Is that what you mean? I acted like an animal!"

She flinched away from his fury. He seemed to grow taller before her, the unmasked portion of his face darkened with rage, the mask itself a stark white in contrast.

"I have been called _animal_ many a time before, Christine. Animal, thing, monster, _corpse_. All of those names I have heard from the moment I was born. But I assure you, I am nothing but a man!"

He lunged for her, his hands grasping her waist and jerking her along the bed. Her back hit the mattress as she cried out with fright. One of his knees pushed between hers, pining her gown to the bed so she couldn't move, as he rose up above her, a ghost made of immovable pale muscle. He had done this once before, weeks before, in Paris, after she had provoked him yet again with her stupid mouth. Back then, her hands had reacted by pulling him closer; now, she tried to shove him off, and it was like pushing against a mountain.

One hand entangled in the loose curls at the back of her head, yanking her head so she was forced to tilt it upward to avoid more pain. The other traveled up and down her side, not quite venturing anywhere else, but giving the promise that it so easily could.

"I am a man, Christine!" He crouched over her, his mouth hot against the curve of her neck as he pushed his lips against her skin. "I have only ever been a man, despite what they tried to make me. I have wanted as a man, yearned as a man, _desired_ as a man. I see you, Christine, and I want to give you everything, take everything from you."

The grip on her hair pushed her head upward, forcing her mouth to meet his. She could feel tears streaming from her eyes, soaking the edges of her hair, and she kept them squeezed shut, unable to commit to memory what his face might look like. Her lips could do nothing against his except whimper. His thin lips kissed her for a terrible eternity. He slanted his mouth, probed at her retreating tongue with his, doing everything he could to coax her into a response.

When he drew back, she sobbed, "Please stop."

"Oh Christine!" His body trembled against hers. His hand leaving her hair, he tugged her up and against the firmness of his torso, cradling her body with new tenderness. She sprawled in his lap, her legs draped limply over one of his thighs. His chest was sweaty against her cheek. She felt the shape of him beneath her in a most intimate way, but he was clearly not aroused.

"Oh Christine, my Christine," he moaned. "What have I done? What did I do?"

"Please stop," she said again. "Please don't." She struggled to calm down, to get her surging panic under control. The only thing that saved her was the fact that he sat still beneath her. His hands, both on her arm, shook with the force of his emotion, but he didn't try to caress her in any way. "Please please please." She still kept her eyes shut, still couldn't look at him.

His heart pounded beneath her cheek. "I am truly a monster after all!"

 _Yes you are_ , she could have said, and that would have destroyed him. Exhaustion draped across her limbs, threatening to pull her under. A monster would have done it; a monster wouldn't have cared that she wanted no part of him.

"You stopped," she said, sounding impossibly small, too vulnerable upon his lap. "You stopped. Please, please I just want to sleep now."

He shifted, and she thought he might tuck her into his own bed, and she truly would get no rest that night. However, his arms slipped under her body and lifted, and he took her across the hall to the guest bedroom. He laid her down with impossible tenderness. She still couldn't open her eyes, didn't want to see any emotion that might flicker across his face. She pressed both hands over her face, feeling wetness from the tears that still streamed from her eyes.

He didn't try to tuck her in or say anything more to her. He turned off the lights and shut the door behind him. After several long moments, she heard the sound of glass breaking followed by muffled sobs before she slid into sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow, thank you so much for the response to the last chapter! I'm trying to get as much of this story finished before the end of the summer. Your reviews spur me forward. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

She fully expected him to be gone in the morning, fled after his horrific actions, unable to stay in the apartment. However, as she cracked her eyes open, wincing in the full sun of day, she heard sounds coming from the kitchen – water running, dishes clanging, the opening of drawers. Maybe Nadir had come over, though he had said he wouldn't until lunch time.

Gingerly sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The royal blue gown was tangled about her legs. At some point, a thick blanket had been laid over her – the comforter from the other bed. She flushed, thinking about the fact that Erik had been back in the room while she slept. She hated feeling so defenseless, so unable to keep him out when she had every right to.

Her cell phone, the battery close to dying, told her it was a little past 10 in the morning. Her feet ached when she stood, and she hobbled to the bathroom. Her overnight bag greeted her on the floor near the bed – at some point, it had been retrieved from the hotel, along with the cases for the jewelry. Yes, Erik had definitely been in here. At least she could now change and freshen up with her own things. She placed the hair comb and bracelet into their felt boxes and closed them shut. Then she took off the gown, sighing to finally be rid of the constrictive fabric, and laid it out on the bed.

First, a shower. Then, an outfit Meg had picked, the most conservative one Christine could find in her bag, a pair of skinny jeans and a ruffled top with bell sleeves. A bit more awake now, Christine gathered up her belongings, leaving the jewelry and dress on the bed, and left the room.

Erik sat at the dining table, facing her, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. He was the picture of how he had looked every morning in Paris, and it made her heart ache. Back then, his past had been in the past, left somewhere in the Middle East and not dead in an alleyway in New York City.

When he saw her, he straightened. With one hand, he indicated the spread on the dining table. She nodded and made her way over, taking a seat in the one of the chairs opposite him. A collection of pastries, bagels, and fruit lay on the table. She grabbed a plain bagel and spread on strawberry cream cheese before taking a bite.

They had breakfast in silence, every once in a while cut by the rustle of the newspaper or a knife on porcelain as she cut a piece of fruit.

At some point, Erik stood and brought her coffee, made just the way she liked it. She sipped it, murmuring a "thanks" in response, and the hot liquid slid a heavenly track down her throat. He always made sure she was fed, even though he cared little for food himself. Somehow, she had to find the strength to do what she knew needed to be done.

"All I seem to do is make you cry," he said quietly. "You should never have a reason to cry, Christine."

She flicked the annoying tears off her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath. She should wait until she had one foot in the car, but she was tired of being afraid of his reactions. The bruises on her neck had faded, but she no longer only feared for her life.

She had begged him to be upfront with her, so she would do the same for him.

"I agree, Erik. Which is why I… I need a break." When he didn't react, she pressed onward. "School is in full swing now, and I _have_ to graduate. I can't have anymore distractions. I can't afford to get mixed up in all this craziness anymore."

Before she started rambling, she bit her lip so she would shut up. She looked anxiously at Erik, waiting for his reaction.

He glanced at her over the top of his paper. "So be it." Calmly, he folded his newspaper and set it aside. Then he produced a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. "James," he said into the phone. "Miss Daaé will be ready in ten minutes. Thank you, monsieur." He ended the conversation and opened his paper to once again read.

"I thought Nadir was going to pick me up."

"Nadir is emotionally unable to handle anything right now. It is best that he sleep."

"So, that's it?" She hated how her voice sounded higher, borderline shrill. Hadn't she practiced all of this in her head while she showered?

"I did as you wanted, my dear. This has always been about what you wanted." Oh, there was a little steely edge from him now.

Fine, then. Christine set her dishes in the sink and went over to her bag, picking it up. "Where will James be? I highly doubt you'd let him come straight to your safe house."

Erik turned his paper to the next page. "Go out the main doors of the complex and turn left. Walk three blocks, turn right, walk four more. He will be waiting around the right corner."

"By myself!"

He cut his yellow eyes at her. "You are a big girl, and plenty of New Yorkers are walking the streets. You have my number should you need it."

She would not cry again; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hurting her like that. She looped her bag over her shoulder and walked out of his apartment, managing to keep her feet from running. She made it to the elevator and pressed the down arrow. As she watched the lights head toward her floor, she heard Erik come out to the hallway.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him leaning against the doorframe to his apartment. "Coming to say goodbye?" she said, bitterness rising.

"Should I?"

The damned elevator moved so slowly. "I don't know, Erik."

He straightened, his hands two balled fists at his sides. Then in two strides, he had walked back into his apartment and slammed the door behind him.

She couldn't punch the wall, so she clicked the down arrow button over and over until the elevator finally arrived. All but throwing herself inside the chamber, she hit the button for the ground floor and slumped into the corner.

Sunshine hit her face as she made her way outside, and normally, such a clear sky would ease her soul and bring a smile to her face. Instead, it only reminded her that the night was over. It was time to go home.

* * *

Christine slept most of the way home. As soon as James dropped her off in front of her apartment, as soon as she set down her bag, she fell face-forward onto her own bed and slept again.

She awoke some time later to the buzzing of her phone. A hazy glance told her it was Meg. Oh yeah, she was suppose to call her friend when she was on her way home. Now it was almost 9 o'clock at night, and Meg was probably going to chide her for not checking in. Chide her or chew her out with expletives. Either way, Christine was not in the mood.

She pressed the button on the side of her phone until it powered off, then tossed it somewhere across the bed. Barely rising up, she thumbed apart the clasp of her bra, pulled the straps down her shoulders, and dropped it onto the floor. There, so much better.

She slept on.

The next time she woke, it was to the pounding of a fist at her door. She groaned and rolled onto her back. She was still wearing the clothes she had traveled home in, and her eyelids felt glued together. The pounding continued, reflecting the headache she was sporting. She stumbled out of bed and to the door, peering through the peephole.

Meg's blonde head glared back at her.

Christine rolled her eyes. She was still in no mood for anything, but she couldn't hide in here forever. She unbolted the door and swung it open.

"Hi," she said, and shuffled to the kitchen for coffee.

Meg barged in, slamming the door behind her. "Hi? That's all you have to say?"

Christine winced. "Too loud, Meg."

"I didn't hear from you _all_ day yesterday or last night. You're not answering your phone, and then it started going straight to voicemail. God, Christine, I wasn't sure if that meant you had a fantastic time or if you were in a ditch somewhere!"

Christine stared at the machine in front of her as it began to spit out coffee. "I'm sorry. I just didn't feel like talking to anyone."

"You could have said that! A simple text: _Meg, talk later_. Or _Meg, fuck off_."

"I know, I know."

Meg came to stand closer, examining her face closely. "You look like hell, Chris. What happened?"

Christine pushed her curls from her face, well aware of her wrinkled clothing, smudged make-up, and disheveled hair. She was in desperate need of a shower too. "Do I have to talk about it?"

"No, you don't," Meg huffed, and then gently maneuvered Christine to a kitchen chair. "Sit, girl. I'll get your coffee." She fixed two cups and joined her at the table. "I understand if you don't want to spill the details, but I _know_ you, Christine. I can tell it didn't go well. Your Parisian man - he… didn't hurt you, did he?"

Christine grasped the coffee cup to still her trembling fingers and raised the cup to her face, breathing in the warm aroma. She wasn't even sure how to answer the question. Erik had been rough with her; he had bellowed at her like he had never done before. He had been so deeply upset with her, but when she hadn't responded to his advances, he had backed off.

Deep down, she knew Erik thought he was protecting her, and his breakdown that night had little to do with her and more to do with his own demons. However, she felt like she couldn't trust him to hold his temper anymore. What if he _hadn't_ stopped? Next time, would he have even less control?

"He got into a fight… with this other man," she said, staring into the light brown liquid. "Later, when I confronted him about it, he got mad at me. He- he didn't hurt me, not really, but he wasn't exactly nice either." She choked on the next words, hating the lump in her throat. "I told him I wanted space."

"And did he take that well?"

"Well enough, I suppose. He was definitely mad, but he made sure I got home safely." Christine pushed aside her coffee and hid her face in her arms. "I don't know what I'm doing, Meg!" she wailed, muffled by her arms. "Sometimes I think I should cut all ties with him and tell him to get out of my life. Sometimes I- I truly feel like I'm falling for him!"

She felt a soft touch on her arm. "Oh Chris, I'm so sorry."

"He's- he's so frightening, so angry, so difficult to deal with." Christine lifted her head, meeting Meg's kind eyes through her tears. "He's had such a rough life, and I can tell he doesn't know how to handle things – _anything –_ properly, but when I'm around him… the rest of the world just falls away."

Meg ran, grabbed some tissue, and came back. She stayed quiet as Christine wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then she gazed calmly at her friend. "I've never heard you talk like this about anyone."

"I've never _felt_ like this about anyone." She frowned and spat, "But my feelings don't matter in this, Meg. He- he was so horrible. He said such horrible things."

She didn't share any details with Meg, couldn't bring herself to talk about it aloud. But Christine remembered all that Erik had said to her the night before, how he had pressed the length of his body against hers, his breath hot on her neck, and pinned her down so she couldn't get away. She remembered his fierce talk of want and desire.

She wondered if somehow she was truly sick inside. Because even though she had been terrified, even though she had wanted him to stop, a part of her had felt a deadly thrill deep inside. A part of her imagined what it would have been like if he hadn't stopped, if he had been more insistent in pursuing his seduction. Would she have been able to say no forever? If he hadn't been so angry, if his hands had loosened in her hair, if he had held her more lovingly at first like he had as he carried her to bed… she might have been more than willing to go down that path.

She couldn't tell Meg any of this. To do so would expose the biggest truth about herself: that she wanted this man as much as he wanted her.

Despite everything else.

Christine stood up and threw her tissue in the trash. "None of that matters now, Meg. I told him off, and I don't want to see him again anytime soon. Now, should I bother to pull myself together for classes or skip a third day in a row?"

Meg leaned a thoughtful elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand. "How about this: go to your classes today, but come straight over to my place afterward to look at costumes. A fun party on Saturday may be exactly what you need right now."

"I don't know," Christine said, sighing.

"Come on! I've got a bunch of pretty dresses for you to try on, and a dozen _gorgeous_ masks. There will be all of our friends-"

"Your friends."

" _Our_ friends. And just enough boys and booze to help you forget your Parisian man." Meg came to her, clasped her shoulders, and gave her a little shake. "You have to come, Chris. You already promised."

Christine couldn't resist the pout and puppy eyes her friend pulled. "Fine."

Meg all but squealed, giving her a huge hug. She grabbed her purse and started for the door. "I've got tons of party planning to do, so I'm off. Please take care of yourself today. Eat, take a shower, make it to class." She paused with one foot outside, swung around, and waggled her eyebrows at Christine. "Oh, and Raoul will be there too."

As she left, Christine headed for the bathroom, groaning.

* * *

Christine missed her morning class but managed to make all of the others, dragging herself from classroom to classroom throughout the day. Luckily, many of her classes this semester were senior hands-on projects, so she got to spend the majority of the day behind or on the stage, putting her learned skills to practice.

Still, she was grateful when her last professor dismissed them ten minutes early, and she was finally able to head off campus to Meg's apartment.

Meg had her spread of masquerade outfits ready. The usual party outfits were available – a white flouncy dress for an angel, a poufy purple dress if she wanted to be a fairy. Christine chose a gothic black dress all done in lace with full sleeves and a hem that was shorter in the front and fell to her feet at the back. She could pair it with her black ankle boots. To go along with the dress, she selected a lacy black mask that covered the upper portion of her face, several feathers framing one side of her head.

Meg couldn't stop gushing when Christine donned the full assemble, and it was nice to get her ego stroked, even from her friend. She began to feel a bit more excited about the party, but first, she had to get through her doctor's appointment tomorrow.

She went alone, her mother unable to get away for this one. Honestly, Christine didn't mind that much. Anna had gone to all of the other appointments; she'd been by Christine's side every step of the way even when she had been unable to deal that well with the details.

Familiar with the route to the oncology's office, Christine listened to some of her favorite music on train ride over. As far as appointments went, this one shouldn't be that difficult. There weren't any scans to be done since she didn't have any remaining tissue, and they may not even have to draw blood.

When her time came, she changed into the usual gown, the ties in the front so she could be examined. Her doctor was a sweet older woman who had made Christine feel as comfortable as possible during all of this mess. The two of them chatted for a while about Christine's pain and the way she was managing it; she hadn't needed Percocet for weeks now, and she hadn't even taken ibuprofen in days. She might still have flare-ups, but she still seemed to be healing, which lifted her spirits a bit.

The physical exam was as painful as she expected, but Christine took a deep breath and bore it. The skin was still overly sensitive to touch, and too much pressure hurt. However, overall, she was getting _better_.

As far as cancer appointments went, this one had been fantastic. She hadn't cried – not even a little.

On the way home, she called her mother to tell her the good news, and then she also called Meg. She even got to wait six months before her next appointment!

And now it was time to party.

Christine got ready at her own apartment, not wanting to be stuck in that awkward moment of being dressed but waiting on everyone else to show up. Meg really was kind to let her borrow this costume for her own going away party. Christine was lucky to have such an awesome friend, and sometimes she wondered if she deserved to have the blonde girl in her life. After all, did she put forth much effort to be a good friend to Meg? Meg had been a great support to her over the past two years, but when had Christine ever put forth that kind of effort to help out Meg?

Christine dressed. The black costume really was lovely, though a bit itchy with all the lace. She was happy to be covered up, even though much of the lace was sheer, from her neck to her wrists. She was able to wear her own bra with this dress, which made her feel even more comfortable. She left her hair cascading down her back in curly waves; it was almost to her waist now, and she probably needed a trim. She had been so lucky to keep her hair while going through chemo that she hadn't had the courage to cut it since her diagnosis.

Applying her makeup heavier than normal, Christine leaned back from the mirror to take a look at herself. She looked very different than she had a few days ago when she gazed at herself in a mirror in New York. Then, she had been all softness and grace, donned in Erik's blue dress and Erik's diamonds. Now, she felt like a dark goddess of the night. Her dark red lips smiled beneath her mask. Maybe tonight would be fun after all. She could celebrate not only Meg's start as a professional ballerina but her own conquering of the worst time in her life.

She would feel silly riding the bus like this, so she caught a cab and headed to Meg's party about half an hour after it had started. Meg didn't do anything halfway, and the pounding beat of the music spilled into the street. She hadn't been kidding when she meant this would be the party of a lifetime. Meg fully intended to go out with a bang.

Christine didn't bother knocking. The place was packed with people, most of whom Christine had never seen before. Meg had rented an old building on the outskirts of downtown, an old Victorian house that probably was mostly used for weddings nowadays. It was a gorgeous place, and it well suited the theme of the night. Meg stood near the entrance, glowing in her white angel garb complete with feathered wings.

"Chris!" She waved her over, and they exchanged silly kisses on each cheek, laughing at the roles they were playing. Meg had been right. Christine needed a light-hearted night like this. With her mask, most people wouldn't even recognize her, so she could afford to relax a little.

"I'm going to play host," Meg said, shooing her inside. "Go find a drink. I recommend the red wine."

Christine made her way to the full and open bar, ordering a glass of red wine like Meg suggested. It was a little too sweet, but the color was similar to her lipstick, so Christine went along, liking the comparison.

She wandered the house, making small talk with different people. Everyone was dressed up – the invitation had required it, after all – and the party became a sea of masks and fancy costumes. After an hour of this, Christine began to get a headache, the music a little too loud, the people crowding a bit too much. She headed up the grand staircase to the second floor, where the guests were a little more spaced out.

Christine admired the craftsmanship of the place. Whoever had restored this house had done a marvelous job with attention to detail. Upstairs was a maze of bedrooms and hallways, each room a different color of elaborate wallpaper. She meandered around for a while, checking out random rooms and interesting furniture.

"Chris!"

She turned around from admiring a painting to see a man dressed in black pants and a red shirt like a soldier might have worn long ago, full of gold detailing on the front. A red cape hung over one shoulder, and he wore a gold mask. The look suited him perfectly, but she couldn't recognize him at first glance.

Not many people called her Chris, though.

"Raoul?" He made a sweeping bow, and she laughed. "How did you know it was me?"

"I'd recognize that hair of yours anywhere," he said, stepping into the room. "How have you been, Chris?"

"Okay. You?"

"Good, really good." He was as handsome as ever and even more so in that outfit. His thick blonde hair was swept back, his walk cocky and sure of himself. His golden mask covered the top half of his face, including his nose, calling attention to his full, perfect mouth. "There's this new project I'm helping to develop that sounds so cool. Kind of like charity work, I suppose, so we're trying to get funding."

Christine listened, drinking large gulps of her wine. "What do they do?"

"Websites, actually. Well, not just websites, but that's what we're starting with. We want to develop websites, databases, servers, and all that tech stuff for nonprofits. They don't always have a lot of extra money for that kind of thing, but without it, they struggle with getting their name out there."

"That… well, that sounds awesome, actually." It did. Christine was impressed. Sometimes Raoul seemed like he was trying to be a good guy because he liked being known that way, but really, he was one of those genuinely nice people. What was so terrible about Raoul that Christine couldn't fall for him? Was she truly so messed up that she felt nothing for his charms?

He went on about his pet project for a while before he noticed that she'd drained her glass. "Would you like more, Chris?" he asked, giving her a stunning smile.

"Sure, thanks." She handed over her glass and went back to admiring the paintings in the room again.

The collection continued down a narrow hallway that ran offshoot of the room in the back. Each painting she encountered was more stunning than the next. Each showed a seascape torn by storms, dark clouds heavy upon pounding waves and eroding beaches. She loved them despite their troubling subject. She could practically feel the spray of the salt water on her face. Maybe she could find the time for the beach tomorrow.

So caught up in looking closely at the paintings, she didn't notice the man in front of her until she had almost collided with him. She put a hand against the side of his shoulder to steady herself as there was barely enough room for two people to past each other in the hall.

"So sorry," she said, quickly letting go of his arm.

She stepped back to a friendly distance. The man was dressed in an ebony tux, his full vest scarlet with a woven black pattern across it. His black mask covered his entire face, and although it had a regal nose and full mouth, the mask was expressionless.

"Excuse me," she said, trying to slide past him, but he didn't move. Her forthcoming smile faltered a bit at the rude gesture. She glanced over her shoulder, supposing she could just go back, but she did want to see the rest of those paintings.

He turned to face her, filling the space of the hallway, far taller than her even with her heeled boots. Craning her head up, she was unnerved by the odd mask, but she could overlook the mask because of the eyes, the eyes that she immediately recognized.

"You!" The word came out in a rush, her lungs squeezed with sudden tension. Of course he had come here, not just here to Boston, but to this party where he could walk around without looking out of place. She knew she couldn't bother asking how he had known where she was. He always seemed to know.

Erik wasn't looking at her, his yellow eyes trained somewhere over her head, far away into the room she had left. They couldn't see much of the room from deep inside the passage.

"Who was that?"

His voice, hard as steel, rolled over her; it should have been muffled, but she heard it as though he had leaned over and spoken directly in her ear. She would _not_ shiver at that sound of velvet heat; she would _not_ feel anything but anger. Only days had passed since she had last seen him, and she would definitely ignore the longing pull that rose up.

One gloved hand came up to clasp her elbow like it belonged there. "That boy called you Chris. I do not like it."

She jerked her elbow away from him. He must have been standing there for some time to have heard any of her conversation with Raoul. "It's a nickname."

"He is… very familiar with you."

She heard the warning a moment too late, realized the danger that lay down this path. Now she was the one trying to block his way up the hall. "Raoul is just a friend – he's only ever been a friend. But that doesn't matter, does it? I told you that I wanted a _break_. That means you leave me alone!"

Erik didn't seem to have heard a word she said. He took a few steps toward the room behind her, pressing up against her in his effort to move closer. She had to jump back to avoid touching him. She hated this new mask of his. She couldn't read his face at all, couldn't tell his emotions except from his voice or his eyes, which had yet to even look at her.

"Hey, back off, Erik!"

"I recognize that voice," he said, still in that deadly musing tone of his.

"You do? How-" She gasped at the same time she heard the thunder of footsteps crashing upon the old wooden floors. Meg's peal of laughter sounded loudly in the empty room, followed by Raoul's chuckle.

"You won't be able to convince her, Meg," Raoul said.

Meg giggled again. "Oh, I'm very persuasive when I want to be. I bet you anything she'll dance with me by the end of the night. Maybe we'll even get her to _sing_!"

Erik was pressing against Christine's back again, a surge of tidal energy, his body rigid with tension. Blast that stupid mask of his – if she could just see the strong line of his jaw, she would be able to tell how angry he was.

"How do you even remember that?" she whispered.

For the first time, he swung his head down to stare at her. She didn't like the glint she saw there. "I journeyed here in a box because of that voice, my Christine."

 _His_ Christine!

The pair in the room beyond were still taking bets on whether or not Christine would loosen up before the night was over.

Erik put his voice in Christine's ear. Moving away would only have forced her closer to the room where her friends were. "I remember how frightened _that voice_ made you sound."

"It was an accident that night," she said. "I know you thought I was in trouble, but Raoul would never intentionally hurt me." Her friends were now calling for her, wondering where she had gone. Christine hugged her arms against her body and glared at Erik. "I can't say the same about you."

He wrenched himself away from her at that, and she took the opportunity to dart down the hall. She bet on how much she knew of him, that he wouldn't follow her into a group of other people, especially ones she knew. Erik was nothing but socially phobic, unable to carry on a normal conversation with Nadir, someone he had known for a long time, much less Christine's own friends.

"Here I am!" she announced, meeting their grins with a forced one of her own. She took a fleeting glance at the hallway behind her, but she had guessed right. Erik wasn't following her. She looped an arm with each of them, tugging both Meg and Raoul from the room. The more distance she put between Raoul and Erik, the better.

Not to mention herself and the man who seemed to inevitably tug her back to him.

* * *

 **I hope you don't mind that I gleaned over Christine's doctors appointment. The point has never been for her cancer to come back or anything like that, but rather how she deals with the aftermath and healing process.**

 **I should be able to get another chapter up before I go on vacation next week!**


	15. Chapter 15

**You have all been amazing! Thank you SO much for the reviews - truly!**

 **Hollielillie - I can't send you a PM to send you snippets of upcoming chapters, but your reviews are lovely!**

 **A special shout-out to M.G36 for inspiring me to delve into Meg's party and turn it into a masquerade. I never intended to include the party in the plot, so you have her to thank for the next scenes. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

For the rest of the night, Christine made every effort to stay around other people. If the crowd was thick, she was right there with them. She refused any other drink, wanting to keep her wits sharp and her head clear just in case.

It was a good thing that she did because she caught sight of Erik at various times over the next hours. He never engaged with anyone else, keeping to the darker corners of the enormous house, his glowing eyes always trained on her. Even though his presence unnerved her, she made every effort to obviously ignore him, and he made every effort to keep track of her whereabouts.

Maybe she should have found his looming manifestation creepier than she did. Certainly the other partygoers did – giving him a wide berth and mostly pretending as though he wasn't there. The single drunk person who had tried to strike up a conversation with him had run away at the first sight of his glare. The scene might have been funny if not for the fact that likely Erik had gotten that same reaction all of his life.

Mostly, Christine tried to keep an eye on Raoul while also pointedly not looking at Erik. Once, she saw her masked companion in the doorway beyond the room where she played poker with a group. She folded and went to another room to push herself into a circle of dancers, and that proved to be a mistake. Raoul noticed that she was actually dancing for once and rushed over to join her. He'd had several drinks himself and his hands were freer than they might otherwise have been. Christine pushed him off with the pretense of needing to go to the bathroom, but she knew Erik had seen.

Meg, ever observant, followed her and leaned in close. "Who's the mysterious dude? The one in the big mask?"

"I have no idea," Christine said, shrugging. Was her nonchalance convincing enough?

"Me either. He's _so_ tall! I hope he's not a party crasher."

"Yeah, that would suck."

Meg elbowed her. "He's been following you around. He must like what he sees."

"I can hardly believe that," Christine said, rolling her eyes. "But I've barely noticed."

"Really? Because I've seen you looking over at him a lot too."

Christine recognized that sneaky tone. "Don't get any ideas, Meg. I'm not interested. In fact, I don't need to use the bathroom anymore. I need some air."

"Oh come on, Chris, I'm just playing around."

"Well, I'm not." Christine shrugged her off and headed out the back door. Some guests had spilled outside to smoke or enjoy the cooler night air. The mansion was on about an acre of property with mature trees and expensive landscaping. She didn't have much trouble finding a secluded spot off to the side of the house.

She didn't have to wait long before Erik showed up, sliding out of the darkness in his full mask. She rounded on him, too angry to feel any kind of fear.

"People are starting to notice you too much. You have a lot of nerve, showing up here, following me around like this."

"I wanted to see you."

His honest admission brought her up short and threatened to undo the wall she had put up. She folded her arms across herself, wishing she could talk to him without being dressed like this. She hated this get up; she was over this masquerade concept where she couldn't tell who was who. Her own mask itched. She couldn't imagine how Erik could wear one all of the time. She wondered if he thought she looked as ridiculous as she felt right then.

More than anything, she hated this full mask he wore. Her hand itched to reach up and take it off, and she finally had to satisfy her curiosity by touching it. She expected him to jerk back, grab her wrist, stop her in some way, but he didn't. Her palm curved around the sharp angle of the mask's cheekbone, the plaster different from the usual coolness of his porcelain cover.

"Why are you wearing something like this?" she asked.

"In such a public place, I cannot risk anyone seeing my face. With this, I am truly anonymous."

She let out the breath she had been holding. "I was worried you had been injured somehow."

He answered with a derisive snort. "I cannot get uglier, my dear!"

"Don't say that." She traced the shape of the mask, over the full lips so different from his real ones. She found the bottom edge where the thick plaster met the crease of his jaw and neck, touched her fingertips to the line of exposed skin above his collar. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "You know what I meant."

"Do I," he mused. "My side is healing well enough and no, I have no new injuries."

That relieved her. "Are you done in New York?"

"No. This will never be done. Now that they are well aware of my existence, I cannot stop. More have followed quicker than I expected, much like stepping on an ant hill."

He hadn't pulled back from her touch. Her thumb slid over the imperial nose of the mask and gripped it. Perhaps sensing what she was about to do, he placed his own gloved hand atop hers.

"Christine-"

"How many more have you killed?" She spoke so softly that she doubted he could have heard her without his expert hearing.

Again, she tried to lift her hand, tried to lift his mask. He pressed more firmly on her hand with his own. Why didn't he push her away, throw her off of him, step back? He could so easily escape. His weight shifted from one foot to the other and back again.

"Four," he said at last.

This time, when her hand rose up, her fingers digging into his mask, he didn't try to prevent her from doing this thing to him. She could hear the noise of the party, the laughs of men and women who led lives in the daylight, who were far removed from anything close to this reality. She placed her other hand on his chest and felt the rapid flutter of his heartbeat.

His bare face was damp, sweaty from the confines of a mask not meant to be worn for long periods of time. The sores on his deformity hadn't healed much, and he was obviously not letting his skin breathe like he should. Pressing the mask into his own hands, she clucked her tongue softly and reached up to trace the outer ridges of that side of his face, mindful of the lesions. His golden eyes were wide and wild in the shadows.

"You have always known what I am, Christine."

She outlined the sunken ridge of his nose. "You're right. I have known." From the time Erik had considered leaving her in the pitch blackness underneath the Palais Garnier, she had known of what he was capable.

She shook her head, letting her hand drop from his face. He held the mask between them like a thing alive, but he didn't put it back on. The man before her had just admitted he had murdered four more people - sought them out on his own and strangled the life from them. For what? A feud over a decade old, for a time lost to history.

A pair of partygoers burst out of the back door, laughing and holding hands. Christine knew she and Erik were well hidden behind the thick bushes and trees, and anyone would have to travel quite a ways from the house to even come close to them, but even so, the sudden loud noise startled her. The couple began to speak in hushed murmurs and soon, Christine heard the telltale sounds of affection breaking out between them.

She turned back to Erik. He had widened his stance, his arms spread open and bent at the elbows, the slight beginning of a crouch. With his height, he had to have seen more than she could, maybe caught a better glimpse of the two people in each other's arms. He looked across the yard, and the longing in his eyes endangered her resolve. Maybe she should have felt apprehension, standing out here alone with him, a man who stirred conflict within her thoughts. Instead, she felt a surge of sadness. She felt like she was at a crossroads, and if she said the wrong thing, the world would fall apart beneath her feet.

She laid her hand back on the hideous half of his face, drawing his attention back to her. "You can't keep killing, Erik. You can't keep going down this path. Maybe years ago, this would have made sense, but now it's just murder. It won't ever stop until _you_ stop, and you're better than all of this, you're better than this person who keeps killing."

His fierce, liquid gaze threatened to swallow her whole. If she expected tenderness then, she got the opposite, his voice light and mocking. "Sweet, trusting Christine. As you wax on about my moral character, I am plotting ways to finally make you mine."

She gasped at that, snatching her hand back, revealing his full face twisted with a dark emotion she couldn't name. "W-What do you mean?"

"Those friends of yours will take you from me. Maybe not now, maybe not quickly. But I have seen the way he looks at you. That boy does not even try to hide how much he wants you." He took one of her wrists in his steely grip so she couldn't possibly flee. He seemed to grow taller, larger, blocking out the party beyond.

"Erik, I don't-"

He continued his onslaught, moving closer, following her as she stumbled back. "You don't want him in return, is that what you mean? My dear Christine, maybe so, but you want his friendship and his charms and you _laugh_ so easily with him. He places his hands on you like he has done so before."

Her back hit the trunk of a tree. "Stop it, Erik." She put two hands on his chest. Tucked against the tree, farther into the shadows, she could barely make out his face.

"I could make you mine, Christine," he continued, leaning forward. His mouth hovered just above hers. "I could kill the boy, take the girl, force you to cooperate in all the ways you might not otherwise."

"And I would hate you."

She didn't try to push him away because words were her power, words were her own strength. Erik cared too desperately about how she felt to carry through with any of these empty threats, and he knew what she had finally realized.

She had far more power over him.

He could never _make_ her love him by sheer force alone.

He tried to draw back, but she didn't let him. Her arms snaked around his neck, easy to reach while he was bent over her, and folded behind him so he couldn't easily escape. Just seconds before, he had threatened her friends, threatened everything she held dear, and she felt his despair as surely as she felt her own.

She filled the last of the space between them, compressed the length of their bodies together. She chased his sharp intake of breath with her lips, the brief meeting of mouths not sufficient but all she could give. She pulled back before he could recover enough to respond, before she could begin to feel _anything_. She didn't dare meet his eyes.

"Get out of here, Erik."

And he fled into the night.

* * *

Christine found Meg about to lip-lock with a matador dressed head to toe in green and gold. She poked her friend in the shoulder, waiting with little patience for her to notice Christine standing there.

"I'm heading home," Christine said. If she could fool Meg into believing she was as fine as she had been minutes earlier, then she was truly a talented actress.

Meg must have drunk too many glasses of red wine because she didn't notice that anything was amiss. "Do you need a ride, Chris?"

Christine shook her head. "I'll take a cab. There are plenty shuffling in and out of here." She didn't have to worry about Meg going home alone, so she hugged her friend goodbye and headed off to find Raoul.

He was shooting darts with some other men in a back room, and he grinned at her when she entered. "Chris! There you are."

"Not for long. I just wanted to say goodnight." She stepped away from him before he could hug her. Even though she was pretty sure Erik was no longer in the area, she didn't want to add any fuel to the fire. "I'm feeling sick. Don't want to puke on you." She punctured her statement with a little laugh. "How are you going home?"

He jabbed a thumb behind him. "These guys rent a place within walking distance. I'll crash with them."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it." She was. Thank God neither of her friends were going to be alone tonight. She really did believe that Erik's words had been just that – empty threats to try to hurt her, to cover up his own vulnerability. Still, she would have to text both of them in the morning for her own peace of mind.

A few minutes later, she was climbing into a cab and sliding her own mask from her face. She rubbed the spot between her eyes, happy to have it off. She half expected Erik to show up again, but something felt different between them, like they had both said things that couldn't be taken back.

Her apartment had never seemed so empty.

* * *

The impending rain chased many people off the beach, so by the time Christine arrived in the late morning, the stretch of sand was nearly empty. She didn't much care. The dreary weather matched her mood, and she was thrilled to have the beach mostly to herself. Really, it wasn't raining all that much, just a steady mist that wet her arms and kept her cool.

She sat under her umbrella, stretched her bare legs across her blanket, and tried to read her novel like she had planned. However, her thoughts kept straying to last night. Erik had ventured into open territory – _her_ territory – and came so very close to revealing himself to her friends. He had threatened her, threatened them, and all but said he wanted to claim her as his own

The thought made her shiver, and not completely with fear. She had been propositioned by men before – mostly for straight up sex – and turned them all down. Years ago, she hadn't been that interested, too focused on getting through college, and by the time she thought she might be ready, she had gotten her diagnosis. Unlike other guys who had fled at the first hint of the c-word, Raoul had stuck around at least as her friend.

And Raoul had propositioned her before, asking her to be his girlfriend quite clearly. In fact, he had always been downright chivalrous and formal about it. She appreciated the straight-forwardness, even if it wasn't all that romantic.

And yet she had told him no. Had turned him down several times now. And she never yearned for him in his absence like she did Erik.

Every time she was parted from her masked man, she wanted to see him again. Even when she had been so angry at him, she had still thought about him. What did that say about her, that she was more drawn to a known murderer than to a kind man with a steady job? What did that make _her_?

She remembered Erik's face when they had nearly been interrupted by the two lovers, his expression of utter longing, his eyes wide with want. She closed her own eyes, feeling the salty breeze on her skin, and tried to picture the manifestation of his bare face at that moment. There had been something else written in his features. A hunger mixed with… what?

He had looked down at her, and _what_ had been his thought?

Christine shook herself and draped the shawl she had brought about her shoulders. The wind had picked up a bit, slanting a building drizzle under her umbrella. She pulled out her cell phone to check the time, maybe take a picture of the beach hazy with misty rain, and saw she had a text.

From Nadir.

It read: _Call me. Please_.

She hadn't spoken to Nadir since he had gone off to… deal with his friend Darius on that horrible night last week. She had thought about calling to check on him, to see how he was doing, but she hadn't wanted to open herself up to possible communication with Erik.

Still, she should call him, so she thumbed the screen open and pressed his number, putting the phone to her ear.

" _Good morning, Miss Daaé_ ," came his voice, which was normally so warm when speaking to her. Now, she could hear an edge in his greeting.

"Good morning, Mr. Khan," she replied. "How are you?"

" _As well as can be expected. Where are you?"_

"Um, what?" That took her aback.

He said it again, this time a bit slower, then added, " _I drove by your apartment, but you were not there_."

 _"_ Ah. Do… you need something?" She had no clue if Erik had told her about his little escapade last night, but obviously, Nadir Khan was also back in Boston.

" _I need to speak with you in person._ "

"I'm at the beach."

" _Which one?_ "

She puffed a breath of annoyance, but she decided to play nice. "Constitution Beach."

" _Perfect. I'll pick you up in ten._ "

"Nadir-" she began, but he had already hung up.

What the hell? She thought Nadir was the more reasonable of the two, but obviously he also knew how to be annoying when he wanted to be. She gathered up her belongings, hiked her large beach bag over her shoulder, and made her way to the parking lot. The rain had started to pick up, and she was grateful for her large umbrella, which covered her enough that only her feet and ankles got wet.

A black car, smaller than the SUV he had driven before, pulled up to her side. She dumped her sandy stuff in the back seat and climbed into the passenger side. Nadir was dressed in his usual suit, so she felt a little sloppy in her sundress which she wore over a bikini, her hair wind-blown, her bare limbs covered in sand.

She pushed her wet hair from her face, and turned in her seat to glare at the Iranian. "You couldn't explain anything over the phone? You've been hanging out with Erik too much lately."

He frowned at her. "I could say the same of you. Your foul moods match." He pulled them into a more secluded parking spot and put the car in park, leaving it running. The beach had started to get chilly, so she was grateful when he turned on some gentle heat.

"Look, Mr. Khan, did you come here to berate me or is there a point?"

From his coat pocket, he produced a thin envelope and gave it to her. She sucked in a sharp breath and took the envelope from him with suddenly shaky hands. She stared at the careful penmanship of her name on the front in red ink.

"Is this…"

"A letter from Erik, yes."

She flipped over to the back. "It's still sealed."

"I haven't read it, if that is what you mean." He eyed her. "He was in quite a state when he came back to the hotel room last night."

"He followed me to a party. It was a masked party, so no one saw his face, but still – he was there around a crowd of people." She paused, thinking if she should tell Nadir anything Erik had said last night. She decided to hold her tongue for now.

Nadir tilted his head at the letter she held. "That would explain his behavior when he returned. I have never seen him in such a mood."

"He was angry?" She breathed slowly in and out.

Nadir made no comment about her odd behavior, gazing at her calmly. "No, not angry. Far from it, actually."

She stared down at the crisp white envelope. After a few minutes, she brought it to her face and inhaled Erik's familiar dark scent. Then she narrowed her eyes at Nadir, lowering the paper to her lap, running her thumbs over the surface. "You already know what it says."

"Oh, he said not a word to me, I assure you. Not a word until he told me to give you that." Nadir straightened in his seat and gripped the steering wheel in front of him. They both watched the rain go pitter patter against the windshield, blocking out the rest of the world. "But afterwards, he said it was time to go."

"Go?"

"Christine," he said, using her familiar name. "He has decided to stop pursuing this whole mess further, at least as far as physically attacking anyone responsible." She thought Nadir looked relieved at that, leaning his head back against the seat. "We are leaving."

"Leaving? Leaving Boston?"

"Ah, no, I'm afraid leaving the States altogether. If they know we aren't going to attack them, we can't stay here or even go back to Paris, for that matter. We have to go to a country where we know they have no stronghold and vanish from their radar altogether. It will have to be an extended stay, likely a year until they relax. Maybe more."

They were leaving. _Erik_ was leaving. She struggled to breathe and talk calmly at the same time. "Why?"

"Damned if I fully understand that, Miss Daaé. Now that he has taken the initiative, he might be able to wipe them _all_ out. But I have my suspicions. If we overstayed our welcome here, if we continued to pursue this further, eventually I would expect it all to get traced back to you. As long as we stay here, Erik _will_ keep coming back to you. Surely you realize this."

She did, she did oh so clearly.

She held the envelope up, resisting the urge to crumble it within her trembling hands. "This is a goodbye letter, isn't it? He's saying goodbye to me."

Nadir sighed. "I believe so."

"I can't read this!" She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the paper, her hands fisted beneath it. "How could he?"

"How could he!" The sudden anger in Nadir's voice startled her. His accent grew thick as he spat, "He is giving up on his revenge for _you_."

"He could at least say all of this to my face!"

"Could he, now? Erik has many abilities, but I doubt he can stand in front of you and willingly release you from him. He would not be able to do it. Besides, he seems to think you have made it quite clear your opinion on his pursuit of you."

"Because he's an idiot! He terrorizes me, saying terrible things, and then expects me to be happy when he shows up again!"

Nadir turned his eyes skyward, muttering something under his breath. "Like I have said, you are well suited for each other." He swept a hand to indicate the pouring rain outside. "Are you staying here or may I drive you home?"

She slumped in her seat, crossing her arms petulantly. The letter lay in her lap, remaining unopened. "Just take me home already."

He began to drive, easing the car on the way to the highway. It wasn't a long drive to her place, and he was silent for most of it. She got the feeling he was deep in thought. His words had cut her deeply, but she knew they were all true. She _had_ done everything she could to push Erik away, so why was she so upset that he was finally leaving?

When she saw the familiar shape of her apartment, despair overcame her. Was he really going to drop her off and be done with her? This was all she would be left with – a fight with Nadir and a stupid letter from Erik?

"Nadir-"

He parked and turned in his seat to face her. "I am an old man, Christine, and I am _tired_. I am going to tell you something and forgive me, for I haven't spoken of it in a long, long time. But you need to hear this."

She nodded, giving him the room to begin. He darted his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, clearly nervous, and started his story.

* * *

 **So sorry to stop there, but otherwise, it would have been a giant chapter. :(**


	16. Chapter 16

**I couldn't leave you hanging for long. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

Christine listened as Nadir began to speak.

"You know I was the one who brought Erik to Iran. News of his particular abilities as a magician and an oddity had traveled to my country. I found him and convinced him to come to serve as entertainment to my Shah, on orders I could not refuse. The guilt of that still haunts me, but that is not the point of this story.

"By the time I left to find Erik, my beloved wife had already died giving birth to my son, Reza. By the time Erik came to Iran, it was obvious that my son was also soon to be upon his own deathbed."

Christine pressed a hand to her mouth, but stayed silent.

He took a deep breath, and continued. "Reza was a lovely child with eyes like his mother. He took great delight in anything odd and different, which is probably why he took to Erik so easily. He was a wondrous child, unafraid of Erik and his mask. I was surprised by the way Erik humored him so, bringing him gifts when he visited and singing him silly songs. I had not seen this side of a man I only knew for his… clever ways of killing."

When Nadir paused, she cleared her throat and asked gently, "Reza was sick?"

"Yes, that much was apparent from early on in his infancy. He had Tay-Sachs disease, you see. It is genetic, progressive, and always fatal. Soon after meeting Erik, Reza could no longer see. By the time Erik was visiting regularly, he could no longer lift his hands to open his gifts."

"I'm so sorry, Nadir."

He stared out the window in front of them, lost in the past. "I knew Reza would eventually die. I had known this for a long time. But I couldn't bear to deal with it openly, having already lost my wife. Now, my son would also soon be dying right in front of me in a most horrible way. I went in to check on him one night, and he had lost the ability to speak, unable to call for me even though he was so frightened. I began to see the end of his journey before me.

"I lost it right then. I called Erik, asking him to come over. I didn't know who else to call – no one else came to visit Reza like he did; no one else had a relationship with him. Erik came over without hesitation. He sat by Reza's bed and held his hand; he stroked his fingers over Reza's feverish forehead. Erik was so calm as though this was any other visit, but I wondered: could he not hear the way Reza struggled to draw breath, the way his limbs had started to jerk?

"I couldn't stand to be in the room any longer, so I fled like the coward I was. Erik followed me, and I will never forget the look he gave me and the words he said next. He offered to end my son's life."

Christine gasped. "Oh my God, _why_?"

"Reza was suffering, this I already knew. He could not see nor hear; he could not move his thin body. He could no longer swallow water. His suffering could extend for hours, days, before he finally died of thirst or slowly suffocated. I knew what needed to be done, but I was not strong enough. Erik was."

Nadir leaned forward and took one of Christine's hands in both of his, covering her hand with his large palms. "I let him kill my son that night. I let him give Reza a poison that caused him to slip into a painless sleep. I held my son as he took his last breath, and I knew he had been given the gift of a peaceful death when previously I had no hope for one. Erik had been willing to do that for me. I never would have had the strength, but _that man did_."

Christine felt sick. She blinked past the tears that had welled up. "What are you trying to say, Nadir? That Erik is willing to kill children as well?"

"No!" Nadir took her chin and looked her steadily in the eye, like a father might to a daughter. She was instantly reminded of how her own father had chided her when he was trying to explain something, and she just wasn't getting it. "Above all, Erik has done the difficult things no one else is willing to do. Again and again, I have seen him take upon the mantle of monster for the sake of others. With my Reza. With killing the Shah so we could escape Iran. With what he has done in New York."

He released her, sitting back in his seat. "That is why I follow him – to bring him back before he slips too far. To make sure he always comes back."

"To- to protect him the way he has you."

"Yes."

She had to bring it up, to understand. "So why did he almost kill you that time in Paris?"

"If he wanted me dead, I would be dead," he said, indicating his person. "You have to realize this by now. But all of that business of course was for you."

"I don't want any of this from him, though." She smoothed the letter in her lap, traced the red lettering of her name. "I don't want him to kill for me."

"And that is why he is leaving. His instinct is to kill, to eliminate the threat. He has decided to try a different method."

"And what is that?"

Nadir spread his hands, and she found the motion to look like he was pleading with her. But for what? "Behaving like the man he believes you want him to be."

That undid her. She pressed her hands to her face and wept. She cried for the past month of experiences. For Erik's past. For Nadir's son. For everything she had thought she wanted but had only now realized was utterly a mistake.

After she had collected herself and dried her face with Nadir's handkerchief, she opened her eyes to find that he was offering another envelope to her. At her scandalized expression, he gave a small laugh.

"Not another letter, I promise."

She plucked the envelope from his hand, opened the unsealed back, and slipped out the folded piece of paper. She began to read the contents.

"I have been trying all of these years to rein Erik in," Nadir said, "and to make sure that his choices match my own moral compass. It is time that I do something for _his_ happiness."

She began to cry anew. "What is this, Nadir?"

"Your choice." When she looked up, his own warm brown eyes glistened with tears.

* * *

Christine woke up early and made it to her morning class. Had it only been a week since she had sat in this class and read Erik's text inviting her to New York? That moment seemed years ago. She had been so excited to visit him, so thrilled to take that trip. She had worn his gown and jewels, sat in his opera box, eaten his French food, and everything had been magical.

Until it had all fallen apart.

Excusing herself to go to the bathroom, Christine grabbed her bag and didn't go back to class. Instead, she wandered the campus for a while. She hadn't taken the time to enjoy the architecture, to gaze out of any window high up enough and see the Charles River nearby. A brisk wind ruffled her hair, signaling the first signs of fall approaching. Boston always had the most gorgeous autumns.

Skipping the rest of her classes, Christine ran her errands, got coffee at her favorite place, and then finished up her tasks. They didn't take her as long as she thought they might, so she spent the extra time enjoying a long lunch of chicken tacos at Lolita's by herself.

She kept an eye on the time, and soon, she had to head back to her apartment with all of her supplies in tow. Her pillow felt heavenly beneath her cheek. Her bed, while not the most luxurious thing on the planet, was still her own, still familiar. She let herself lay there for as long as she dared, then got up and continued with her preparations.

The last phase really didn't take that long.

Less than an hour later, she stepped out of her apartment and tucked her key under the welcome mat. She stopped by the mailroom to drop off the two letters she had written, pressing her lips to each before sliding them into the box.

Now she could go.

She didn't want to risk being late, so she took a cab. Being early afternoon, the roads were fairly empty with only a few stragglers heading back to work after lunch. By the time she reached the docks, however, the roads became more congested with other passengers.

The Queen Eleanor rose up before her, a gigantic white bulk of a ship, all sleek lines stretching the full length of the pier. A city that could travel oceans.

She could still turn back. Even as she watched the cab pull away, her suitcase in one hand and her overnight bag in another, she could have changed her mind. Everything she had done that day could be overturned and explained away as a moment of panic that she had overcome. She could say she had come to her senses.

Christine looked back at the ship. She faced an unknown future ahead of her. She had no idea how Erik would react when he saw her, how her own _heart_ would react when she saw him.

Gripping the check-in information Nadir had given her, she stepped into line to embark.

She had never taken a cruise before and certainly not one over the Atlantic, but she was too nervous to enjoy stepping onto the ship for the first time. This thing was huge, its enormous massiveness blocking out the sun. She handed over her passport and papers and got checked-in without issue, letting them take her suitcase. Nadir had warned her that she might not see her suitcase for hours, so she had packed her smaller overnight bag with items she thought she might need for the rest of the day.

She didn't see Nadir during the embarking process, which only made her stomach churn even more. That shouldn't have surprised her, however; hundreds of people were boarding this ship. She went through the safety drills along with everyone else, and soon she was allowed to stand freely on one of the decks.

The crew untethered the ship to the dock. A cheer rose up from the passengers standing around her, all of them gathered to see the ship pull away from shore. She moved to a deck facing the stern and watched as the skyline slowly faded from view, steadily slipping into the distant horizon.

She sighed and went to find the cabin Nadir had purchased in her name. He was already waiting for her there, and she threw her arms around the older man. He seemed startled by the affection but chuckled and patted her arm.

"I am happy to see you as well, Miss Daaé. I admit, I was not convinced that you would come."

"I'm still freaked out that I'm here. This is all so surreal."

"Let us hope I survive long enough to see you through this voyage."

He had warned her that Erik might be furious with him, and so Nadir would take this cabin, the existence of which was unknown to Erik. She would take the state room that had originally been booked for the two men to share.

She had protested at first. Shouldn't she let Erik come to her when he was ready, rather than just showing up in his room? However, Erik's swift anger was a strong reality, so she was acquiesced to Nadir's request. Best that Erik be allowed to cool down before the two men met again.

Nadir handed her the electronic card to the other room. "This one is yours. I will slip the match just under the door so Erik can fetch it when he arrives. We will trade our luggage once it is brought to us. For now, perhaps you should get some dinner and explore the ship."

"When will Erik come up from the cargo hold?"

"Not until very late, I am afraid. I paid an exorbitant amount to ship my priceless antique with me, but he will have to sneak his own way to the cabin."

She nodded and started to head out of the room. Changing her mind, she stuck her head back in. "Uh, do you want to have dinner with me?"

The smile he gave her was his biggest yet. He did really have a kind face, framed in laugh lines around his eyes. "A man's last meal before execution!"

She patted his arm. "Then make it a good one with my fantastic company."

"You _are_ charming, Miss Daaé."

The two of them started for the elevator. "Please, call me Christine. After everything we've been through, that's the least you could do."

"Nadir, then, if you please."

They had dinner at one of the cruise ship's more casual spots. Christine had never had the opportunity to simply talk with the Iranian, and she discovered several facts about him that made her realize they could easily be friends. First of all, Nadir didn't care much for opera but he loved a lively pop song, especially anything Indian. Secondly, he loved horses and promised to introduce her to one of his favorites at their destination. Third, he had the _best_ deep belly chuckle after two glasses of cognac.

Christine herself didn't have even a single glass of wine. She needed to be awake and alert for tonight, and besides, she felt bad enjoying herself while Erik was hiding in a crate somewhere below.

Nadir, on the other hand, ate and drank like a man who really was about to be executed. She kind of worried about him – Erik was sure to know who was to blame for this sneakiness. But at least she would get to Erik first.

They stood on the deck for a while after sundown, staring into the darkness that stretched across the ocean. The fresh cool breeze felt wonderful against her face.

Nadir yawned and gave her hand a pat. "Off to bed with me. You have my room number should you need to call. I have great hope that he will get over his shock quickly."

"We'll see." She gave him a small smile as they headed off the deck.

A moment later, Nadir met her halfway, and they traded luggage. Quick good nights, knowing looks exchanged, and they parted.

Christine took an elevator up to the top floor of the state rooms. She couldn't imagine how much money they had spent on such an expensive room, but Nadir had told her it was necessary for privacy. More room meant more space for Erik to hide should he need to. Besides that, the state rooms all shared a butler and a private restaurant, all adding to the ability for Erik to stay concealed.

Using the keycard Nadir had given her, Christine opened the door. The space fell open to a huge room larger than her own apartment, the ceilings rising to a two story glass view of the ocean. Several couches and comfortable-looking chairs in warm brown formed a relaxing place in the middle of the room, with a small dining room beyond that. A suitcase stood to one side of the room, and she guessed that it belonged to Erik.

A full stocked bar stood to the left of the door. Nearby, a black baby grand piano caught her eye. This was a room even Erik could love.

Exploring, she found a small bedroom and bathroom on the first floor. She put her suitcase in here, not wanting to presume that she would take the master bedroom, which was upstairs. She ventured up the gently curving staircase to the top floor. Inside the room was the largest bed she had ever seen, the plush white linen sheets a stark contrast with the thick midnight blue rug on the floor. The bedroom opened to a balcony that overlooked the rest of the suite below, but it could be separated by a heavy curtain. Upstairs, she also found another bathroom, this one containing a jetted tub.

She headed back downstairs to wait. Feeling grimy from the long day, she took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes. She didn't want to be presumptuous and put on pajamas; after all, he could ban her to Nadir's room instead. On second thought, maybe she _should_ get more comfortable. If he arrived to find her already ready for bed, maybe he wouldn't immediately throw her out.

Selecting a nightgown that was more like a long t-shirt from her suitcase, she pulled it on. The thin fabric fell to her knees. It wasn't intentionally sexy by any means, but it wasn't demur either. The thick carpet felt terrific under her bare feet. She left on her bra, unable to think about going without it just yet.

She made sure to dig Erik's letter out of her purse and bring it into the living room with her.

She tried watching TV for a while, but not much else was available besides news, so she turned it off. Digging the book on the history of opera that Erik had given her out of her bag, she flipped through it, but she could not concentrate enough. At Nadir's request, she had not brought her cell phone, instead leaving it at her apartment in Boston. He didn't want to risk being tracked by it. She had also left her computer behind for that reason.

Christine sighed and stretched out on the largest couch in the living room, the letter at her feet. She was too wired to sleep, which was good. The last thing she wanted was to be asleep when Erik arrived. She let her body relax into the soft fabric of the couch. This ship was headed to England, but Nadir hadn't told her what their final destination would be. He had said something about a safe house further inland, not in England. What had been the name of the town? The last day had been such a blur. She had barely left herself focus on what she was doing.

The rasp of a keycard at the door caught her ear, followed by the soft suction of the door opening into the air conditioned room. Christine froze, not sure what her first move should be. She had thought and thought about all of this, but now, her mind went blank. Footsteps softly treaded into the room; the door closed and the deadbolt was locked.

She heard a sigh, barely a soft exhalation. Two plops upon the floor followed; he must have taken off his hat and cloak and let them fall. His two gloves were also tossed, one falling closer to the couch at her feet. She didn't dare move, not yet. Maybe she should have turned on more lights besides the lamp upstairs and the one near the dining table.

The footsteps continued further into the room, crossing to the stocked bar. The click of glass and the gush of liquid, and she chanced a glance over the edge of the couch.

Erik stood there, back to her. He had poured a glass of some type of amber liquor, but now he placed his hands to either side of the bar and bowed his head as if in great pain, his shoulders hunched, his back bowed.

Her heart broke. She rose up onto her knees, knowing that he immediately heard her, and of course a joke was the first thing out of her mouth. "Do we need to talk about your drinking problem?"

He spun around and really, she shouldn't have startled him like that. One of his hands darted into his pocket, and she knew without a second's hesitation that he was feeling for the punjab. At the same time she scrambled off the couch, his hands jerked out of his pocket like his fingertips had been shocked by electricity. The red lasso flew out of his pocket and fell onto the floor between them as though he had pulled back a second before releasing it.

She moved away from the couch so only floor lay between them and raised both of her hands in a soothing gesture. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

He was panting, the halting of his attack having evidently taken effort. His white half mask was back, and she was glad to be able to see his face again. For a second, she had seen a flurry of emotions over his face when he had seen her. Now, his features were carefully blank despite the quick rise and fall of his chest.

He wasn't moving, statuesque, so she bent down and picked up the punjab, holding it draped between her hands like a snake. The thin rope was warm from having been in his pocket. How many people had this simple instrument killed? She pushed aside that thought. Not wanting the lasso between them, she set it onto an end table next to the couch.

He still hadn't spoken. They stood there staring at each other until he arched to down his drink. He poured another, and when he had turned around, she had crept a little closer, this time with the envelope outstretched to him.

His gaze burned from the letter to her face and back again. "The seal is intact. You have not read it." He sounded rough, so unlike his usual silky smoothness.

"I thought you could read it to me," she replied, marveling that her voice did not quiver.

He scoffed. "You boarded this cruise ship so I would read the letter aloud to you?"

She didn't bother answering that. She kept the letter held out to him. Finally, his musician fingers reached out to pluck it from her. He gulped down his drink and poured a third, then took the glass with him as he went to a nearby armchair. She followed, keeping her distance, as he sat with practiced calm.

She shook off the awkwardness that crept over her, standing a few yards away in her nightgown. She was pretty sure there was a cat on the front of her shirt, but she didn't dare look down at it now. Her heart began to beat faster in anticipation. She had come here for this and so much more, and she couldn't back down now.

Setting his drink aside, Erik opened the envelope and unfolded the single piece of paper inside with slow, deliberate movements. She caught sight of his penmanship before he began to read.

 _"My dearest Christine,_

 _"I hope this letter might find you in better spirits than when we last parted. My actions and words are inexcusable, deplorable crimes against the most basic form of human decency."_

Erik shifted, his lanky legs bent at comfortable angles, the picture of composure despite what he was reading.

She saw right through him.

 _"I am indeed a monster and worst of all – I had the impudence to push myself into your life again and again without your express approval. I have been nothing but selfish in our every encounter."_ Erik cleared his throat, his only sign of discomfort. _"I tried to take from you in order to restore my own salvation. I tried to force your affection and instead revealed the worst part of myself. I dare not beg for your exoneration for I deserve none._

 _I have enclosed an amount of money to assist you in whatever endeavor you purpose. I understand this gift will anger you, but I mean only to ease your burdens. You would not accept my tokens of affection, but I hope you will accept this. Spend it, give it to charity – it is yours."_

He paused, his eyes flicking anywhere but her face. She had her teeth clenched against any form of tears – she had no time for them here.

He continued, " _I am a coward for I cannot say these next words to your face. You, Christine, have been a light in my life. I never dreamed I could come as close to the sun as I have with you, and my world will be eternally altered. I will think of you fondly, dearest. Never a day will go by that I do not think of you._

 _Ever yours, ever in adoration,_

 _Erik_."

He tossed the letter at her feet. From the envelope, he drew out a prepaid cash card and pitched it to the floor as well.

His voice was thick when he spoke again. He met her gaze now, his eyes filled with bitterness. "You came here to hear me read this, did you? Wanting to hear it from my own lips?"

"Yes."

"And what is your reply?"

"I love you."

She had echoed those words in her head all evening, and now they spilled forth easily.

He stared at her for a long time. She refused to back down, meeting the intenseness of his golden eyes with her own open expression. He broke the contact first, raising his glass to his mouth to sip. "First thing in the morning, I will seek out a different cabin. You may have this one. After that, I will kill the old man." He took another long drink. "After we make port in Southampton, you will be on the first flight back to Boston."

She held out her arms, stepping a little closer. "Erik, I left everything behind. I have already said goodbye to my mother and Meg. They will have received their letters long before we ever reach England."

She kept her palms up, placating. He was frozen, glass to his lips, his other hand a claw digging into his thigh. She approached closer. "I cancelled the lease on my apartment."

He shuddered, his fingers whitening around his drink.

She didn't relent. "I emptied my bank account. I let the university know I was dropping out of school."

The glass flew past her and shattered against the far wall. "You stupid girl!" he wailed, the revealed half of his face twisted in fury. No, not fury. Something else entirely.

She walked closer until she was standing before him, and the hem of her nightshirt skimmed his knees. The tension pulsed from him like heated waves against her skin. He gripped the leather armrests, the chair groaning.

He bit out his next words. "I left you to keep you safe."

"I know."

"I left to make sure you could continue your own life without me."

"I know." Her breath stirred the strands of his wig that had come loose about his forehead.

"And now you are throwing it all away." His sweet voice rose up in a moan of despair.

She took another step until she was against the chair, between his long legs. He pressed himself backwards, but that didn't matter. Slowly, she laid her palms upon the smooth backs of his hands and felt their trembling.

"You cannot do this, Christine!"

Her courage threatened to flee her, but she held firmly onto it. She grasped the backs of his hands and brought them to her own waist. In the same moment, she tucked one of her knees upon the chair at his hip. Her other knee followed until she was hovering above him. His body shook, and she covered him with her own, settling atop his lap, well aware of how her nightshirt hiked up around her thighs. His hands stayed where she had placed them, their presence a cool whisper of yearning.

"I love you, Erik," she said again, her lips a breath above his. "I'm where I want to be."

She touched her lips to his in a light kiss. When she slanted her mouth to draw him more firmly against her, she felt the barest hint of response. She pulled back enough to rasp, "Please… hold me."

As if he had been awaiting permission, his arms gathered her up, holding her more firmly against him, his pulse wild beneath her own fierce heartbeat. His hands smoothed across her back, danced across her arms, and back to her shoulders, down to hips and up to entangle long fingers into her curls.

The barest hint of a groan from him, and she was lost in his welcoming kiss. He had never embraced her like this, his thin lips parting sweetly against hers. This was so unlike the kisses they had shared since Paris, free of coercion and fear. These were full of promise. She tasted the slight dark flavor of liquor on his tongue and delved deeper to taste it again. His arms crushed her to him, and she gasped with joy.

He drew back a moment and pressed the forehead of his mask against hers. "I am a fool of a man."

She laughed softly. "Yes, but you're my fool. If you will have me."

He answered by touching his lips to hers again.

* * *

 **The end! Ha! I'm joking - promise. This is the end of this part of the story, but it will continue. From here on out, the rating changes to M. We still have much more drama to work through and questions to answer!**

 **I hope you enjoyed a bit of sweetness. :) I'm off to vacation, so the next update will be in a week or so. Since it'll be a longer gap, I promise a snippet to anyone who reviews!  
**


	17. Chapter 17

**Huzzah! I'm back from vacation, tanned, rested, and eager to write. I didn't write much on the beach, but I DID get some major outlining done for the rest of the fic.**

 **I was so unsure about this that I had to have my husband read it first. Thanks for the insight, honey!**

 **Please let me know what you think. :) Your reviews thrill me to no end.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

When she pulled back again, her lips were kiss-swollen, her knees aching a little from being wedged between his bony hips and the chair. His long fingers still stroked her scalp in a way that both relaxed and thrilled her. As she broke away, he dipped his head to press his lips to the curve of her neck, and she shuddered in response at the feathery touch. It was all too much – his arms around her, his mouth on her, his chest rising under her hands, her thighs spread atop his.

She sat back further to escape his mouth and put a little distance between them. When his brow furrowed, she gave a happy sigh and lovingly traced the edges of his mask with her fingertips.

"I love you." Would she ever tire of saying that?

His response was to try to encircle her with his arms once again and pull her closer, but she laughed and pushed against his chest with straight arms.

"You can't devour me, you know," she said teasingly.

He leaned toward her, more insistent. "I can try."

Oh, to give into that threat. She let him capture her mouth once more in a slow, deep kiss, breaking away after a moment to try again. "Erik."

"How are you real?" He buried his face against the crook of her neck and shoulder, his breath hot. "You are real, are you not? You came here, on your own? You are here on this ship, at this very moment."

She splayed her hands across his shoulders, soothing his bunched muscles. "I am here."

"I may never let you go again."

She played with the black strands of wig at the nape of his neck. "Eventually, I must sleep, eat, and drink. Those things that normal people do."

"Nonsense," he said, his voice muffled by her collarbone.

"You have six more days with me on this boat alone. I think you may get sick of me by the end of this journey."

She couldn't bring up what would happen after that just yet. Nadir had mentioned a safe house, but she and Erik had never discussed what a future between them would look like. After everything she had done to get here, she was fully committed to entertaining a life with Erik for a long time. She just didn't have the guts to broach the subject herself.

"Not possible," he clipped again.

As she searched for a witty response, he abruptly stood, setting her on her feet. She was a bit disappointed that he had given up on the verbal battle, but she needn't have worried – swiftly, he scooped her into his arms, one behind her back and one under her knees, and started to carry her up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Her heart began to pound. This could of course be a response to her mention of sleep. It was well past 2 a.m., and while she knew she could sleep in however much she wanted, sleep should be on her agenda at some point. On the other hand, she loathed to leave his side when they had only just been reunited.

Stepping into the room, he set her gently upon the giant white comforter, and then knelt beside the bed, capturing one of her hands in his. His jaw clenched. "You are right, my dearest. After all you have done today, you should rest."

She wanted to protest, but the lure of the bed was already starting to weigh her down. She pulled his hand toward her. "I know you don't sleep much but… you could sleep with me?" At the look that flickered across his features, she immediately wanted to take the words back. "I mean, just sleep. Together. In the same bed but while we are sleeping." Gah, she sounded like an idiot.

"I fear I cannot," he said, reclaiming his hand so there was no contact between them. "I thought you and I would be parted forever. I thought I would never see you again. And here you are, and you touched me – you kissed me. And you are lovely, Christine. So, so lovely." The way he looked at her then, his eyes glowing warmly in the lamp light, heated by a new fire – she had seen that look from him before. "So I cannot trust myself tonight. Not tonight, my dear Christine."

Oh… _oh_. Her face heated as she realized what he meant. Of course, she had thought about _that_ ; she would be lying if the contemplation had never crossed her mind. While she had kissed other boys, other men before, she had never gone as far with anyone as she had with Erik already, and she had certainly never really wanted to before.

"I-I understand," she said, knowing her face was red. "I just want to be by your side."

The exposed side of his mouth curved upward. "I will be here as you sleep and when you awaken. I assure you of that."

She pulled down the covers, snuggled into the soft sheets, and when she was settled, he bent and kissed her forehead, her cheek, and finally, her mouth. He didn't let the kiss become too impassioned, and she was careful herself, not wanting to test his self control. At least, not until she was ready.

"Sleep well," he murmured. He turned off the lamp, throwing her into darkness as he pulled close the heavy curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of the suite.

However, sleep would not come to her, no matter how hard she tried. The bed was a plush lump of expensive wonderfulness that soothed her tired body and made her _want_ to sleep, but her mind could not settle. She hadn't rested well the last night either, the night before she had decided to leave her past life behind. Her brain had spun out in all directions, making her write down a list of things to do before she boarded the cruise ship at 3 p.m. and causing her to pitch every scenario for what could happen when she showed up in Erik's cabin.

What would happen when her mother and Meg received their letters? Would they get them tomorrow – that seemed doubtful. They would probably receive them in a few days, maybe on the third or fourth day of her cruise. She hoped they wouldn't be too upset… Maybe eventually there would be a way for Christine to contact them. If not by phone, then maybe email or another letter.

And along with all of that, she still wore her bra, having been too afraid to take it off. She normally didn't sleep with it on, and now it dug into the puckered ridges of scars at her sides. Erik of all people should understand what she had gone through, what it meant to have scars to cover up, but she still couldn't shed the illusion without worrying about the outcome.

With a groan of frustration, she kicked off the covers and clicked on the nearby lamp. The alarm clock on her nightstand said it was five in the morning. Though she probably couldn't see much daylight through the thick curtain across her bedroom, she thought it was likely dawn was still an hour or so away.

Somewhere beyond the bedroom, she heard the soft plinking of the piano.

She was a bit chilly after being so warm under the heavy covers, but she hadn't unpacked her suitcase yet. The lure of seeing Erik again pulled her out of the bedroom. Once she stepped beyond the curtain, the music sounded louder, a gentle tinkering upon the keys of someone trying to play quietly.

The piano was to the side of the main room of the cabin, tucked under the second floor bedroom. She couldn't see Erik until she was almost to the bottom of the stairs, and he was lit by the glow of a lamp across the room. He sat on the piano bench which was slightly askew of the stairs, and he glanced at her as she walked over to him.

"I apologize," he said, continuing to run his long fingers across the ivories. His song was slow. Thoughtful. "I woke you?"

"Actually, I couldn't sleep anyway."

She slid onto the bench next to him, immediately wishing she had sat on the other side, opposite his mask. The white porcelain covered almost the entirety of this side of his face, making his expressions difficult to read. He seemed relaxed enough, though he straightened his spine when she joined him. The scent of his soap wafted over to her – at some point, he had showered. She felt a longing pull that she forced aside.

"Too much on my mind," she added.

The movement of his hands became more measured. "Regretting this choice already?"

"Don't do that." She clenched fists in her lap and glared down at them. "I knew what I was getting into."

"Did you now?"

What was his problem? She twisted on the bench and grabbed onto the sleeve of his coat at his shoulder, causing him to hit the keys in a discordant note. "Of course I did! Maybe all of this is impulsive, maybe there's still a lot left to figure out, but don't make light of the decision I made, Erik."

Staring at the keys in front of him, he gave a long sigh. "I do not mean to berate you. I suppose I still lack the ability to believe you are truly here of your own volition." He turned toward her and brushed a curl of hair from her face with infinite gentleness. "Give me time, my dear."

She caught his hand and brushed her lips across his bony knuckles. "You… do want me here, don't you?"

At that, a throaty laugh bubbled up from his chest. A real, true laugh unlike she had ever heard from him. "Gods, yes!" He leaned forward with obvious intent to kiss her, but she put a finger to his mouth.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

"Oh the things we must consider now." His yellow eyes glittered as he continued on his path. "I am likely to not care." And he kissed her slow and deep, without tongue and sensuous heat, but still enough to send an ache pooling low within her.

"No fair," she said. "You already brushed yours."

"A fortunate side effect of needing little sleep."

She pulled back and gazed at him, studying his features now that he was turned toward her on the bench. He seemed more relaxed now than he had been earlier. The corner of his mouth that she could see was turned upward, and tiny wrinkles creased the corner of his eye.

Right then, she knew she wanted to see more smiles from him, hear more laughs. She pledged to do her best to get him to do just that.

She couldn't remember if she had ever seen the hidden part of his face twisted in anything but anger or fear. What would those malformed features look like when peaceful in sleep? What would he look like when he smiled?

Oh my God, when he _laughed?_

Without quite realizing what she was doing, she began to reach for his mask.

He pulled back, although he didn't capture her wrist like he so often did. "Please, Christine. Let me alone in this."

She let her hand fall to her lap. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you."

"And yet."

She sucked in a startled breath. "Of course I don't, Erik. I- I just want to be with you. Surely you understand that?" He was silent for so long that she had to continue to fill the void. "Don't you know that you haven't any need to hide yourself from me anymore? I want you to feel comfortable just… being with me."

The right words wouldn't quite come to her, but she hoped he understood what she meant.

As she watched, his arms slide around her. She thought he was going to hug her to him, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the pressure of his arms around her. However, the hug didn't come. Instead, she felt cold fingers feel along the middle of her back, and she realized a split second too late what he was doing before the clasp of her bra gave way under his deft manipulation.

She gasped and flung herself away from him, throwing her arms over her front to keep the discrete article of clothing from falling away from the flat pane of her chest. It was all she could do to stop from falling off the bench in an effort to get away as quickly as possible.

"H-how _dare_ you!" she said in shock, stumbling backward toward the stairs. Her vision grew hazy with a quick welling up of tears, but not before she caught a glimpse of his face, blank, the lines smooth and showing no emotion. A sob bubbled up within her, spilling forth with her next words. "How could you do that to me?"

As he rose to his feet, she fled up the stairs, taking a few two at a time. She had to pause to catch her balance halfway up for running with her arms clasped to her chest was not easy, and she saw he was following.

"Stay away!" she cried, stumbling up the rest of the steps to the master bedroom. The room didn't have a door she could slam in his face, but she cupped her loose bra with one hand and used the other to fling the curtain closed. A moment later, his arm pushed the curtain aside as he strode into the room after her.

"I said get away from me!" It was all she could do not to scream in his face, revealing all the fresh misery that dampened her cheeks and sent adrenalin racing through her system. After everything, after last night, he was doing this to her now? How could he – how could he do this horrible thing? He can't have expected her to react well, and when she spun around to glare at him through her tears, she didn't see surprise in his calm expression.

He looked like he had expected her to react this way.

She backed away so the bed was between them. The bathroom was behind her, and she was only steps away from darting inside and locking the door.

He stopped his progress toward her at the foot of the bed. His arms hung at his sides, his hands unfolded, his posture at ease. The sight of him standing there so calmly sent rage through her system. She grabbed the only thing nearby to hurl at him, but the alarm clock caught on its cord and wouldn't turn loose. She tugged on it twice more before screaming at it and heaving it at the wall.

"Are you quite done?" he asked smoothly. "I would hate for you to alert our neighbors during your tantrum."

She cried out at him again, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at him. He let it softly hit his chest. The surge of anger had quickly faded away, leaving only grief.

"How dare you, how _dare_ you," she hissed between clenched teeth, her mantra a high-pitched testament to the pain she felt.

He spread open his arms. "How many times now have you taken off my mask, Christine? How many times have you forced me to reveal myself to you? Time and time again I have allowed it because it pleases you, and every time I have been forced to be reminded of the part of me that I _despise_. I thought it past time that you understood."

She could feel the straps of her bra slipping down her shoulders. No doubt he could see them. Humiliation joined the fray. "S-so you thought _this_ was the best way to do that?" Her voice rose shrilly. "You couldn't just _tell_ me?"

"I have told you, my dear, time and again." He pressed a hand to his mask, the revealed part of his face finally showing a bit of emotion, darkening with anger and despair. "What do you think drove my mother to abandon me? Sent me to slavery with a traveling carnival? Shackled me to a life as an assassin? Drove me beneath the opera? _This_ was the cause of all of it! Again you try to remove my cover when you won't even take yours off to sleep?"

She shuddered and shook her head. "I can't. I'm not ready do that around you!"

"Not ready!" He took several steps closer, his long strides bringing him around the foot of the bed. "And yet you want me to be."

"It's not the same thing." She stumbled away from him, her calves hitting the nightstand. He was between her and the door to the bathroom, and she would have to crawl over the bed to get away from him if he came any closer. "You told me that my scars wouldn't bother you. You- you called me beautiful."

"That has not changed," he said, softer.

"But now _you_ don't understand. I haven't had anyone shun me for what happened to me. Not like they have you." She drew in a quivering breath and forced out her own truth. "It's the pity I can't deal with, Erik. Did Nadir manage to uncover that my hometown threw a benefit in my honor?"

She chuckled, the sound coming out more like a sob. "They sure did! Two hundred people I didn't know showed up to give my mom money for my treatments and surgery. I was on her insurance at the time, you see, and I guess I should be grateful we even _had_ insurance, but even so, the cost was thousands of dollars we didn't have. My hometown raised money for our deductible and coinsurance and endless copays. Don't get me wrong – the money was needed, and my mom was thrilled. But over and over I had to deal with the hugs and the _looks_ on their faces. Their goddamned pity, Erik! The pity was never ending!"

He shifted on his feet but said nothing. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, not yet.

"And by the end of it, I was their hero! I had gone to war and come back a hero. I had beaten cancer like a warrior. I was a survivor! But I didn't feel like a survivor. I felt like something inside of me had died, something was gone, more than just my breasts, and even though I was alive, I might never get any of that something back again."

Her shoulders began to shake with fresh tears. "I guess that's why I took to Meg so easily. She never gave me that look of pity – she treated me like I was just another nobody. Everyone else, when they find out, they give me that look again, and it never goes away. Once they know, they're lost to me forever."

She finally found the strength to meet his gaze. His golden eyes were wide. He was curved to the side, one hand planted on the bed as though he was having trouble keeping his balance. Her chin raised, and she straightened her back, daring him to speak. He did not.

She continued. "That's why I hid all of this from you until Nadir went digging. I didn't want to see that look in your face. And maybe that's why I press you so hard about taking off your mask. All I ever wanted you to know was that I couldn't possibly do any of that to you. All I wanted was to give you the chance to be like everyone else." Her voice hitched, but she pressed on. "That was all I ever wanted for myself."

She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Her own heartbeat thundered in her ears. Under her stare, he fell to his knees before her, a sharp thud on the carpet.

"W-what are you doing?" she choked out.

His fingers, visibly trembling, grasped the hem of her nightshirt and suppliantly pressed the fabric to his forehead. "I have never pitied you, never once thought you were deserving of it. I have only ever held you to the highest admiration."

"Stop it," she whimpered.

He pressed on, unmoving from his position. "Here you were trying to be kind, and I repaid that kindness with betrayal."

"You-you were trying to get me to understand." Why was she now attempting to ease his own mind? She should still be fuming at him, but she had never really felt anger. Only betrayal, like he had said. Only a deep sadness. "You're right – I shouldn't push you so hard."

His body shook. His face was hidden in the fabric of her nightgown, and so she couldn't see anything besides the slick black hair of his wig and the wide expanse of his black shoulders.

"Oh my dear Christine," he said, giving way to a moan. "Always in fear of me, and rightly so. You should leave. You should flee this one before you for he will only bring you _wretchedness_."

She hesitated, unsure what to do. Finally, she let go of her bra with one hand to stroke over the thick wig covering his bowed head. "I told you before – I know what I'm getting into."

And she did, she had always known. She knew the moment she took the cruise ticket from Nadir's hand that she was accepting all of this from him and more. Of course they wouldn't fall into each other's arms and that would be the end of it. Of course the hill between them was still there to climb.

Tucking her hand under his chin, she turned his face upward. That is when she saw the wetness cutting a trail down his uncovered cheek. She smoothed his tears away with her thumb, wishing she could do the same to the other side.

"I can't promise I won't always try to step over your boundaries, Erik. I want so desperately to see you happy. And part of that is learning how to trust me to treat you differently than you have been in the past."

A tremor shook his tall, thin frame. "Decades to unlearn," he murmured.

"I promise to always ask permission first, though. Can that at least be enough?"

"Truly, that is more than anyone has ever offered before." He sat back on his heels, still grasping her hem. "Let me fix it? Christine?"

She didn't know what he meant, but she nodded anyway. She had to trust him despite everything or they could never more forward. His fingertips left her shirt and crept up her arms. In reflex, she tried to straighten back away from him, but his cold hands delved into her sleeves at her shoulder blades, holding her in place. Despite the chill of his skin, his touch burned across the bare patches of her flesh. His hands took hold of the two limp catches of her bra and brought them together at her back. In a few quick movements, he had reattached the clasps, slid his hands free of her shirt, and grasped her upper arms.

His eyes searched hers in earnest. "I will never do that again. You have my oath."

His oath. She wanted to roll back time so this had never happened, but at least she no longer felt like screaming at him. Closing her eyes and taking a deep, calming breath, she let it out slowly. When she opened her eyes again, she saw him more clearly than before.

He was simply a man, kneeling before her, his expression still frazzled and unsure. A dangerous man, a deeply flawed man, a man who could cut without the need of a knife. But he was _hers_ , of that she was at least certain. In coming here, she had laid claim to him. And eventually, she would let him claim her.

Her hand still hovered at his cheek. She stroked his jaw with a finger, watched his throat bob. "I don't want your oath, Erik," she said. "I just want your acceptance. Can you give that? I just want your love."

The slightest pull on her upper arms, the whisper of yearning, and she followed the draw downward until she could press a kiss to his waiting lips. The caress was almost chaste, and she couldn't handle more than that right now while she still felt so vulnerable, but the slide of his lips against hers contained all the promises she craved.

* * *

 **Next up, everyone's favorite Iranian! Shenanigans aboard the cruise ship! A solution to Christine's insomnia!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Nadir didn't want to play much. Sorry. :(**

 **Please read and review! Thank you SO much to my habitual reviewers - I love every word!**

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

"Go back to bed, Christine."

They still stood in the nook between the bed and the wall. After a few more light kisses, she had felt herself start to sway on her feet. His thumbs smoothed across her upper arms as he gazed up at her, still on his knees.

"You need to sleep," he said again, this time more insistent. He rose and pressed her to sit upon the bed, and then he stepped back and released her arms. His tall frame towered over her, but somehow, she felt no threat from him. He was a comforting shadow above her instead of a looming presence.

She rubbed an arm over her wet face, trying to wipe away the drying tears. "The sun will be up soon."

"But you shall not."

He was right. She did need the sleep, but she knew what would happen – she would lay there, toss and turn, before she got up anyway. Their room was high up on the ship, and she could feel every movement. Even though this was a large ocean liner designed to handle the seas, she couldn't escape the lull and constant rocking. Besides, her mind wouldn't settle anyway.

She shook her head. "I'm having trouble clearing my head at night. I've been like this ever since…" Her words trailed off. _Ever since Paris_ , she had been about to say, but she didn't want to dredge up the past. It's not like she had been a champion sleeper before then anyway.

He paused at that, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "What may I do to help?"

"I'm not sure what you _could_ do, Erik, unless you're hiding a sleeping pill somewhere."

She'd meant it as a joke, but he turned on his heel and left the room, sweeping his way beyond the curtain. His footsteps made their way downstairs. She leaned back upon the pillows, trying to get more comfortable, and pulled the blankets to her waist.

Erik returned a moment later, carrying a violin in one hand and a chair in the other. A gasp made its way out of her mouth before she could stop it. He set the chair near the bed, and then glanced down at the instrument and back to her.

"The Daroga was kind enough to smuggle it on board, perhaps to save his neck, yes?" He plucked the strings, made a few adjustments. "Not what I would choose but good enough for now." He set the violin to his chin and raised his arms with practiced grace. "Now, close your eyes, my dear."

Her eyes fluttered shut as she settled further down into the bed. He began to pull music from the strings, the long notes settling over her tired limbs like a heavy blanket. She didn't recognize the song, doubted he was playing anything except the feeling in the air itself – a slow, low melody that filled her spirit and grew heavy her body.

She cracked open her eyes for a moment to catch a glimpse of him sitting straight-backed in the chair, his knobby knees spread for balance, his long arms bending in time with the music as he played, his own eyes closed, eyelashes thick against his cheek. He was a god before her and if she had been more awake, she would have sent her own voice up to worship at his feet.

Only moments later, she drifted off to sleep with his music in her ears.

When she woke, Erik was gone, and the sun was shining brightly through a slit in the curtain to her left. As she tossed open the curtain on that side of the room, she revealed a large window on the top floor. Sunlight spilled into the room, and she drank it in, loving the feel of the warmth on her skin. Beyond the window, she saw only a wide vastness of water, the dark blue ocean swelling in gentle waves.

Grinning, she headed downstairs. She didn't have to search long for Erik, finding him in the living room, sipping tea from a rather delicate white china cup. Coming to stand before him, she put her hands on her hips, unable to ban the silly grin from her face.

He peered at her from over his cup. "Sleep well, I take it?"

"You have to do that every night, Erik. From now on." She threw her arms wide and resisted the urge to spin in place. He had drawn the curtain over the two-story window in the main part of the cabin, keeping them in dimmer light, but that didn't matter. She still felt elated. "I slept! I really, truly slept! With no dreams, even."

He took a sip of his tea and lowered the cup. "A one-time performance, I am afraid. I can't have you becoming addicted."

"What?" She faltered a bit, and then when she realized he had just cracked a joke, she tossed back her head and let out a loud snort of a laugh. God, it felt good to laugh! "What time is it anyway?"

"Just past eleven." She gawked at him, and he continued smoothly, gesturing with one hand. "I sent back the breakfast cart, but the lunch cart should be arriving at any moment. The old man set up three courses a day – for me, I might add." She could almost feel the invisible eye roll. "You are more than welcome to peruse."

She nodded. "That sounds awesome. Nadir will be joining us for dinner. I made him promise."

"'Nadir,' is it, now?" He raised a patrician eyebrow at her.

"We… came to an understanding." She moved to the two-story window and peaked between the seam in the heavy beige curtains. A balcony ran the entire length of their stateroom, complete with lounge chairs and a tiny pool of bubbly water tucked privately against the corner. "We have a hot tub!"

"I haven't yet decided on whether or not to kill him. You shouldn't become attached."

Now she was the one performing an eye roll. He had twisted a little in his seat so he could keep her in his line of sight. "We both know you aren't going to hurt him, so stop with the jokes."

"I do not joke."

Coming back to his side, she bent down and gave him a quick peck on the smooth pane of his unmasked cheek. He really couldn't grow a beard, could he? When she pulled back, his yellow eyes contained a new astonishment to them.

"Please don't hurt him in any way," she said. "I rather like him. He _is_ the reason I'm here, you realize."

"Exactly."

Her hand followed the path of her mouth, stroking his cheek, following the line of his strong jaw. His cup hovered halfway to his lips. She stayed away from his mask, stroking the exposed parts of his face - the edge of his wig at his hairline, where his neck fled into his shirt collar. He was always dressed so formally.

Her voice was soft as she told him, "Nadir loves you, you know."

Now he did balk at that, his chuffing breath felt against her fingertips. However, he didn't argue with her, and that was surprising. Could it be that Erik was more aware of Nadir's admiration than she thought he was? She wished the two men would more openly admit their friendship. It would save them both a lot of heartache.

"You should have seen the poor man," she continued. "Last night, he was terrified of your reaction. He was totally drunk."

Erik swung his head back to peer up at her. "Drunk?"

"Yeah. He had at least three glasses of cognac. Erik, what's wrong?"

He had gone still beneath her hand, his eyes turning far away. Suddenly, he lurched to his feet and brushed past her, heading on lanky legs to the cabin's phone perched on a low table near the dining room. "What is his room number?"

She told him, and Erik punched in it. He held the phone to his ear as it began to ring. Almost as an afterthought, he clicked the button to make the call go through the speaker so she could hear too.

On the fourth ring, Nadir picked up. "Hello?"

"Christine tells me you partook of alcohol last night, old man."

She could hear Nadir's heavy sigh through the speaker. "Good morning, Erik."

"You sound less rough than I expected."

"Yes, a few glasses of water and painkiller helped with that. Is this why you're calling? To inquire about my drinking habits?"

Christine loved how Nadir just took in stride whatever Erik dished out. These two men clearly had grown used to verbally sparing over the course of their weird relationship. She didn't miss the way Erik's body relaxed, the ease at which he spoke to Nadir. Though he may not ever admit it, Erik probably returned the Iranian high esteem in kind.

"Of course," Erik replied. "Especially when previously you had none."

Nadir's voice was glib. "A man is likely to change his mind when facing an uncertain future."

"I was quite surprised to find Christine in my stateroom. I see I have neglected to put you in your place recently enough. I shall have to remedy this soon."

"In which case, I decline the dinner invitation."

"That would be wise."

Christine laid a hand on Erik's arm, wanting the chance to speak. He inclined his head. "Don't listen to him, Nadir. Please come. I hear that this set of rooms has its own restaurant and butler – we can get something brought here."

"You sound well," Nadir said, obviously relieved.

"I am."

"In which case, let's give our mutual friend another day to adjust, all right? We can have dinner tomorrow."

She sighed, but she knew when she shouldn't press. The relationship between these two was complicated. Erik likely blamed Nadir for the choice she had made to come here.

"Dinner tomorrow," she agreed.

Erik leaned back in. "I have your room number now, Daroga."

"Then send me some cake," Nadir retorted. "I hear the chocolate is amazing." With a snap, he hung up the phone.

Christine grinned up at Erik. "That went well."

* * *

After lunch, Christine spent the next few hours showering and unpacking her suitcase. She had stuffed as much as she could in her single suitcase and one overnight bag, leaving behind what she knew she could replace – like a lot of her clothes and knick-knacks.

Erik hung around for a while, standing awkwardly in the corner of the master bedroom. She unpacked what she could without feeling embarrassed about it, leaving her lingerie hiding in a side compartment, and noted his attention to the items she had chosen to bring. Books were easy to replace, but she did bring her well-worn copy of _Jane Eyre_ and the opera history book that had belonged to Erik.

Upon seeing the book, Erik cleared his throat. She ignored him, setting it on the dresser, the bookmark with his red inked scrawl still tucked within the pages. They had never spoken again about _Faust_ or that time on the little stage, when he had tried to get her to sing a song he had written and she had repaid him by throwing his good intentions in his face. That had been an ugly time for her, something she wished she could take back. His aria had been beautiful, and she wished she could sing it now.

From her suitcase, she fished out two pictures frames – one containing a photo of her mother and father on their wedding day, another of a small Christine singing onstage while her father played violin. They were both gazing at each other, and she remembered that moment on stage so clearly, one of the first times he had asked her to join him during a concert.

She touched the glass, smiling a little as Erik came closer to peer at the picture. "I miss him terribly."

"He would be proud of you," Erik said softly.

She looked up at him. "You think so? I haven't done much with my life so far. I certainly haven't turned into the musician he thought I'd be."

"You are young – there is time enough for that. I meant, however, the woman you have become. He would be proud of how strong, brave, and utterly kind you are."

"T-thank you." His blunt compliments took her aback, and she found his admiring stare too much to hold. She went back to unpacking the rest of her clothes.

After a while of watching her, Erik cleared his throat. "Is this all you brought?"

"Yeah," she said, pushing her hair back from her eyes. "I didn't have any other way to bring more with me. But don't worry – I left my mother money to pay for movers to clear out my apartment. They can take the rest of my things back to my mom's house. I don't really need much, but I'm afraid I couldn't fit much in this suitcase."

From his suit pocket, he produced the prepaid cash card from last night. "You may use this to purchase whatever you need."

She looked from the card to him. "You don't have to give me money. You didn't have to then either."

"I wanted to provide something for you," he said with a rise and fall of broad shoulders.

She had to ask. "H-how much is on it?"

"Twenty-five thousand." At her gaping expression, he held the card out to her. "It is yours. I meant it to be yours to do with as you liked. I have so much of it merely sitting there that it pleases me immensely to share it with you."

She didn't like borrowing or feeling like she owed anyone money, but she could tell that Erik took his gift seriously. He wasn't trying to buy her affections. He really did want to simply help her out.

"Okay," she said, taking the card from him. "I wouldn't mind checking out some of the ship today, maybe buy a couple extra sets of clothes. Would that be all right?"

He snorted and began to leave the room. "You are not my prisoner here. Do as you wish."

"Wait, Erik." She hesitated as he paused, waiting for her to speak. "What about the letter?"

"Do you want it?"

She nodded.

The letter, once again folded into the envelope, slid from his inside jacket pocket. He passed it to her, and she took the opportunity to grab his long fingers and give them a squeeze.

"Thank you," she said, meaning it.

With a slight incline of his head, he made his way downstairs and soon, she began to hear him plink away at the piano.

* * *

Christine had been on boats more than a few times in her life, but nothing compared to a ship of this size. This wasn't even a cruise ship – the Queen Eleanor was a true ocean liner, built to withstand crossing the Atlantic and all the bad weather that might come with such travel. Even so, the winds outside had picked up, turning the sunshine of the morning into a partly cloudy day. Christine spent some time sunning herself on a deck before the chilly weather ran her back inside.

Her coat had been too bulky to fit in her suitcase, so that was the first thing she bought. She knew things would only get chillier as they headed further out to sea, and she didn't want to be forced to spend all of her time indoors. She also bought a few toiletries she had forgotten, a couple pairs of shoes, and a sun hat.

After thinking it over, she bought a few things that Erik might like, and presented him with the gifts as soon as she returned to the cabin in the later afternoon.

He was sitting in an armchair, reading her copy of _Jane Eyre_ , which made her instantly glad she had bought a few things for him. She didn't want her poor Erik to go mad from tediousness on this trip.

Smiling down at him, she set the bag of items on his lap, on top of the book. That finally drew Erik's attention.

"You like this story?" he asked, pulling the novel out from under the bag.

"I do. It's one of my favorites."

"This… Rochester is an abrasive man, yet she still falls in love with him."

She perched on the armrest of the chair, clearly invading his space. However, she no longer wore the long t-shirt that had made her feel so exposed. Dressed in jeans, a blouse, and light jacket, she felt well covered up. And bolder. Even without exhaustion and high emotions urging her on.

"You're that far in already?"

He swept an arm out as if to say _what else have I to do?_

"It's a gothic romance, Erik. There's going to be both romance and dark undertones throughout it." She poked the bag on his lap. "Look at what I got you." Her eagerness was probably showing, but she didn't care.

"Bookmark?" he inquired, conceding.

She gave a little laugh and fetched the receipt from her purchases. After he had marked his place, he turned his attention to the contents of the bag. She had checked a dozen books out from the ship's library, a variety she thought he would enjoy. Taking each one out, he individually inspected them, taking his time, turning them over in his long hands. His care delighted her.

Then from the bag he pulled two larger-sized pads of paper – one with lines, one without – in the best quality she could find. She had also purchased a nicer set of writing utensils, pens and pencils of various types. The store hadn't a lot to choose from, but the quality was nice enough. She watched his face as he set the items out, and he focused back on her with one eyebrow raised.

"Just in case," she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Maybe she had overstepped somehow? "Just in case you want to write or anything like that."

She _had_ overstepped – she could see by the way he began to frown.

"My dear, after the way I first sailed over the Atlantic, this trip will hardly become boring even without all of this. You did not have to bother or spend your money."

"I wanted to." She bit the inside of her lip and moved to shove the writing materials back inside the bag. "Don't worry about it. I can just return them."

His cool hand atop hers stilled her. "That is not what I meant. My fingers ache to pick up a pen again, so I thank you for the gifts. They will be well used. What I meant is that I do not want you worrying about my comfort or whether or not I am bored."

He set the bag on the floor next to him, and the next thing she knew, he was tugging her off the armrest and into his lap, her legs stretched sideways across his thighs. One arm came around her back, while the other brushed the strands of hair from her shoulder before delving into the hair at the base of her neck.

"With you by my side, I hardly worry about boredom."

Oh, she could hear the amusement in his voice, the sweet seductive purr that raised the hairs on her arms. Pressure settled against her neck, asking without demanding, and she gave in without hesitation, tucking her own arms around his neck and leaning close.

He was a fast learner, knew now just how she liked having his lips trail across hers, touching yet not touching. She wished not for the first time today that he would remove his mask, at least while they were doing this. She longed to feel all of his mouth on hers, not just his careful angle that prevented the bloated side of his lips from touching her. If he would let her, she would press her lips to the distorted side of his face, learn the crevices and dips, show him how much she loved _all_ of him, not just the side he presented.

But they needed to trust each other, and that meant she had to keep her hand from drifting upward. She settled for tugging a bit at his impeccably tied cravat, urging him onward. He answered her by slanting his mouth, parting his lips, and delving his tongue inside to lash at hers. He took her from a ghost of a kiss to a ravishing embrace, and her toes curled within her shoes. There was no middle ground with this man – he was either afraid to even kiss her or trying to devour her whole.

But for once, she didn't stop him. She allowed the onslaught, relished the slick-slide of tongues, their teeth bumping as he shifted to delve deeper, his hands roaming through her hair or gripping her arms a little too tightly through her jacket. A lie would be if she said his unhinged passion didn't somewhat frighten her, the way he could so suddenly surge forward, his trained control starting to slip. She had been on the receiving end of that passion several times now, once without her consent, and she wondered if he could ever reach the point when she would not be able to stop him.

She ran her hand over his hair, careful not to disturb his wig, and sighed happily into his mouth. He was perfection in all things he set his mind to accomplish, and kissing was one entry he evidently wanted to add to his repertoire.

She adjusted her legs, wanting to turn to face him a bit more, and one of her knees dug into his side.

He hissed, wrenching his mouth away from hers. His hands pushed her back until she was perched upon his knees, his strong grip holding her so she didn't topple off.

She was a little delirious, coming down off her high. "What happened? Erik?"

His breath was shaky, and he seemed to fight with himself. Her thoughts spun through the last few seconds. When she had moved…?

"Oh my God, I hurt you somehow?" How had she managed to- Her eyes widened as she realized where her knee had pressed. "Your side!" she cried. "Your bullet wound!" She moved to get off his lap, but he held her in an iron grip, not letting her up.

"Just a moment," he ground out between clenched teeth.

How could his wound possibly still be hurting this much? Hadn't it been five days by now? She wiggled around and began to search for the edge of his shirt, wanting to see. Of course he probably hadn't been taking care of himself. Of course the nasty gash must have gotten infected. Damn him and his pride!

He caught her hand, which gave her enough room to slide off his lap to her knees on the floor before him, an easier position to tug up his shirt. Now he had both of her wrists in his grasp, a scowl upon his face.

"Christine – leave it."

"But you're hurt," she protested, tugging at her wrists. He didn't relent. "You let it get infected, didn't you?"

"I said leave it."

She stuck out her chin, her jaw set at a stubborn angle. "No."

"Christine-"

"No, Erik. I love you. I'm going to look at it. You let me bandage it once. Let me do that again for you. This is a boundary I'm crossing."

He stared at her, his golden eyes flashing in the waning light of the late afternoon. Then those yellow depths cut away, acquiescing. "Tonight."

Her relief was palpable. She rested her forehead against his knee. "Thank you."

He grunted at her, and she was glad her grin was hidden. She didn't want to hurt his pride any further.

At that moment, a polite, crisp knock sounded at the door, signaling the arrival of dinner precisely at 6:30. That was perfect. She was famished from the busy day, and afterward, she would see to Erik's injury.

And maybe, after she'd tended to him, he would oblige by granting her other wish.

* * *

 **We will reach 100,000 words within the next chapter - whew! I expect this fic to go another 50k, with another 15 chapters or so. I don't want to rush, but we still have the cruise to get through before we deal with the fallout on the other side.**

 **I always love to hear what you think!**


	19. Chapter 19

**You all are so fabulous!**

 **If you're curious to see an image of the real-life cruise cabin on which I base this one, try a Google search for "Anthem of the Seas." I fell in love with the Sky Loft Suite with the balcony. Namely, it's the room with the dark brown furniture and dark blue accents, with the balcony master bedroom on the upper left and the piano underneath. If you can find the pic, it's lovely. The rest of the details of this ship, including procedures and such, are based on the Queen Mary 2, a true ocean liner that sails from NYC to Southampton (and back). I try to keep it all as true to life as possible.**

 **Enough of that - onward!**

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Nadir had excellent foresight in setting up this meal service. Not only did she get delicious meals throughout the day, accompanied by a specially selected bottle of wine, but she didn't have to worry about bringing something back to the room for Erik. The meals were huge, and she didn't need all of that food, so it was easy to put a bit on an extra plate for her companion.

Erik partook of the wine, pouring them both a glass of the dark red, and he didn't protest when she put a small portion of fish, rice, and vegetables in front of him. He joined her at the long dining table without comment. She hadn't seen him eat since the meal they'd had at his French restaurant in New York, when he had let her feed him small bites of her own food. Now, she didn't say anything about it, just offered in case he felt like eating.

The man _had_ to eat something, after all. He couldn't live on wine and tea alone, as much as he might try.

To her delight, he _did_ eat, cutting small bites that fit easily around his mask without getting the silk-lined porcelain dirty. He had once told her that he couldn't taste a lot of flavors, but when she commented on how tasty the food was – and it was beyond delicious – he nodded in agreement.

It was all such an extremely normal scenario, the two of them sitting down and sharing a meal together. She could almost forget all of the other business. Forget his mask and her own scars, forget that he was on the run from crazy people with a decades-old grudge, forget that she was leaving behind her entire life for him. They were a man and a woman, sitting at a table, having dinner.

After they had finished and cleaned up, sending the cart back into the hall, she grabbed her second glass of wine and headed for the balcony. She hadn't been out there yet, and she wanted some fresh air. She didn't ask Erik to join her, knowing how he felt about exposure, but gently smiled at him as she pulled the curtain aside so she could open the balcony door.

Gone were the still waters from this morning, replaced with higher waves that pounded against the side of the ship far below. A cold, brisk wind met her face, but she didn't mind that much. It was all well worth it to take in the view of the sunset before her. Striking colors of red, orange, and yellow bled out in all directions, cut by dark streaks of cloud moving quickly across the sky.

"The weather might turn for the worse," Erik said. She looked over her shoulder to find him standing in the doorway to the balcony, leaning casually against the glass.

"You think?" She turned back to stare across the waves and took a sip of her wine. "I hope not. I can take some waves, but any more and I might get seasick." The wine certainly wasn't helping, but she felt okay if she kept her eyes on the horizon and didn't look down anymore. "I didn't expect this trip to be so chilly."

"This far north, across the ocean, it is always cool. In a few more months, we would have to worry about ice and snow."

"Like the Titanic." She fell silent, feeling solemn. The captain had said he would announce when they were near the resting spot of the Titanic; they would travel about a mile from it. A cold wind blasted her face, making her shiver.

"You should come in," Erik said. "The evening is cold."

She shook her head. "I'm not ready yet. Who knows if I'll ever see such a beautiful sunset again. I want to soak up all of this."

He was silent behind her. Then, she felt a weight settle around her shoulders, and she turned to find Erik without his suit coat, standing next to her. He draped his coat around her body, holding the edges together under her chin. The thick fabric immediately pushed away the cold wind, enveloping her like a blanket, warm from his body, filled with his musky scent. She resisted the urge to bury her face into the wool, instead smiling up at him.

"Won't you freeze now?"

"The cold does not bother me." Using the front of his coat, he pulled her closer, gazing down at her. The multicolored glow of the sky around them gave his white mask more of a pink tint. "Like you said, I do not want to miss this beautiful… sunset."

She flushed. One of his hands came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing a path under her eye. She tilted her face up. His eyes were only on her.

This was a moment she wanted to commit to memory, no matter what might happen between them in the future, no matter if their paths would stay together or diverge. Here in the middle of the ocean, cocooned in the iridescent glow of the sunset, sheltered from prying eyes by the walls of the balcony, she was more in love with him than ever.

 _Kiss me, kiss me,_ she thought.

She didn't have to wait long.

They stayed out there for a long time, long after she had set aside her unfinished glass of wine, not wanting to lose her sharper senses. When her nose grew cold, she tucked it against his chest, burying her face into his silk vest. His hands couldn't seem to stay still, drifting from her hair to her shoulders, down her back, and back to her hair in a slow pattern that relaxed her.

She could have stayed out even longer, after the sunset glow had darkened into a beautiful blue that matched the ocean. However, the wind had picked up even more, blowing in a bank of fog across the choppy waters. Even Erik seemed to feel the chill, his arms, clad only in his thin white shirt, shivering a bit around her.

She pressed a kiss to his cravat, the highest she could reach unless he was bending down. "Back inside?"

"Back inside," he agreed.

It took her a moment to warm back up to a comfortable temperature in the room, but after a few minutes, she took off his coat and handed it back to him. Instead of putting it back on, he draped it over a nearby chair. Then he stood where he was, waiting for her to take the lead.

She hadn't forgotten his wound, but she hadn't wanted to press him about it too soon after dinner. Now that the sun was down and night was upon them, she knew it was time to get a look.

She took his hand and guided him to the couch. "Are you still going to let me see how you're healing?"

He frowned at her. "I don't understand how you can possibly want to look at… any of it."

If he had really expected her to drop the subject, did he know her at all? Had the last few weeks with her taught him nothing? When it came to some things, she simply lacked the ability to let it go.

"Since I love you, isn't that my job? To take care of you and everything that goes along with that?" Giving his hand a squeeze, she pointedly looked him up and down. "Are you or should I?" She hoped that was clear enough: are you going to take off your clothes or should I do it? Again?

She managed not to breathe a sigh of relief when he began to tug loose his cravat. The first time she had done this had been just after he had strangled a man right in front of her and fled into the night to kill seven more. She had been exhausted, emotionally drained, and fearful of any touch from him. He had been on edge, injured, and seriously dangerous. Knowing what she did now, she was amazed that she had made it through that night unscathed.

No, that wasn't true. Erik had never intentionally hurt her, had always pulled back before things had gone too far. Even though he had treated her roughly, his actions had been spurred on by her harsh words. This was a man used to mistreatment, who always expected the worse from people.

She would always fight to prove him wrong.

She tried not to openly stare as his cravat and vest joined his coat, and he began to unbutton his white shirt. He had undone two buttons when he paused, his eyes darting around the room like he wasn't sure where was safe to look.

"The light," he said softly.

Ah. They had turned on extra lights to have dinner and combat the increasing darkness outside, but here he was undressing in the open expanse of the living room. Dashing around the room, she turned off everything but a small lamp nearby, leaving that one on so she could still see his gunshot wound.

Cast now in dimmer light, he untucked his shirt and continued his conquest of the buttons. Even though she was doing this with a medical intent, the action seemed too intimate. Erik must have felt the tension between them too for he wasn't looking at her, his yellow eyes far away.

She stepped closer to him before he could finish the last few buttons, stilling his hands. She reached up and curved her hand around his masked cheek, turning his head so he would meet her eyes. "Hey," she whispered. "It's just me."

Getting no response from him, she gently moved his hands aside and undid the last two buttons herself. Having him stand there and undress himself, when he didn't want to, seemed so wrong. She wanted to soothe him, to have him understand that she was safe, that she would never hurt him the way he had always been hurt before.

Staying close so he wouldn't think she was ogling him, she raised both of her hands and hovered them over his chest, asking for permission. She wanted to touch him, to feel his scars with her own skin, but she wouldn't if he said no. After a moment of his burning stare, he gave the slightest of nods, and she flattened her palms against the broad planes of his chest. She kept them there, unmoving, feeling his fierce heartbeat under her right. Then she began to slide her hands upward and out, toward his shoulders, smoothing over cool flesh and the dry ridges of scars, until she was able to sweep his shirt off his shoulders. The garment slid easily off his limp arms, and she set it atop the other articles of clothing.

His injury was covered with a bandage, a different one than what she had put on it, but darkened, old blood cut a burgundy line across the center of the white gauze. She asked him to sit down on the couch, and he did without question, leaning back a bit against a cushion so she could easily reach his side.

Thin tape covered the edges of the gauze, and she peeled them off as gently as she could. The sight that greeted her made her gasp with dismay. His wound was much worse than it had been even while fresh. The skin was swollen and an angry red, the inside edges of the gash turning sickly pus-like yellow. The bullet had barely grazed him. There wasn't any reason that this wouldn't be mostly scabbed over by now.

She wanted to hit him. How dare he not take care of himself!

He must have noticed the anger in her expression because he explained quietly, "You and I had not parted well. I had no idea if I would ever see you again. I… did not trouble myself with this." With cleaning his wound and making sure it healed properly, he meant.

She blinked away a rush of tears. "Even if we weren't together, do you think knowing you were hurt, knowing you weren't putting forth effort to get better, would make me happy?"

He had no answer to that.

Straightening to stand, she put her hands on her hips. "I didn't even bring Band-Aids, so do you have anything or do I need to call Nadir?"

"A small black bag in my room. And please do not bother Daroga or I really will have to send him cake."

Her laugh came out half amusement, half sob as she quickly headed into his room, which was right off the living room, down a short hallway. His suitcase sat on his bed, unzipped, full of the same articles of clothing he always wore. An extended ironing board sat out with an iron atop it. The man did take his appearance seriously. On his dresser sat a small black bag, and when she grabbed it, she noticed a picture in a frame sitting next to it.

It was a black and white picture of her taken a few years ago, on a stage, a smear of paint on her forehead, her hair a sweaty mess against her neck, her clothes an old pair of ill-fitting jeans and a stained t-shirt. She was smiling, looking into the empty chairs of the audience, her face lit up. She remembered the exact moment that picture had been taken. Meg had snapped it while getting shots of the set construction for their first project in which Meg would dance and Christine would help manage the stage. Christine had laughed at some stupid joke told by someone off the stage.

It had been right before her diagnosis. Everything had seemed so much easier back then.

She hurried back to Erik's side with the bag, kneeling next to the side of his legs. Unzipping the bag, she started to riffle through the contents, laying out items that seemed useful. He had a little bit of everything in here, including prescription drugs from a variety of names she didn't recognize and a couple of syringes. She didn't bother to comment on them – would anything surprise her anymore?

The picture had definitely taken her aback. Erik had to know she had seen it. She didn't have to wait long for him to broach the subject.

"I saw the picture in one of the albums in your apartment," he explained. "Your smile captivated me."

"I would've given it to you if you asked."

"I would like to see you smile that way again."

Her lips pursed. "That was taken before I got cancer. I'm not that girl anymore."

"Happy, you mean?"

She opened her mouth to protest but snapped it closed. He was right. "I thought nothing could touch me, nothing bad could happen to me. I had lost my father at a young age – what could really be worse, right? Now I realize so many other things can cause that same stabbing pain."

She gathered up towels and washcloths, including some dampened with warm water and soap. The gash wasn't easy to clean, the skin raw from infection. At one point, he sucked in a sharp breath, his belly quivering. She wanted to press a kiss to his chest, but she took his hand and squeezed his fingers instead, thinking better of too much intimacy.

After she had washed and dried his skin, she smeared on a thick layer of Neosporin and covered the wound with a fresh bandage. Then she sat back on her heels and gazed up at him, her next request on her tongue. He was still reclining back on the couch, his legs stretched out before him. His chest rose and fell with quicker breaths than she would like to see, his skin glowing pale in the dim light, his multitude of scars casting shadows across the planes of his body.

"Erik, I would like to clean your face."

He jerked his head around, eyes wide. "What?"

"Your face." She tapped her own cheek that mirrored his. She spoke as clearly and bluntly as she could, spelling it out for him, making her intentions obvious. "The last time I saw under your mask was two days ago, and the sores you got on your long trip to Boston hadn't healed at all. I know you've been wearing your mask too much, and now I want to clean it up for you. You can refuse, of course," she continued, shrugging with forced ease. "But I can't imagine you feel very comfortable right now."

She placed a hand on his knee, felt his body jump at the contact. "Please let me help you. It would mean a lot to me if you would."

His eyes slid closed, his single exposed eyebrow furrowed. "Christine," he groaned.

"I know. But this isn't about exposing you or trying to make any point." Sitting up on her toes, she settled her cheek against his knee. "Your choice."

"I… accept your assistance."

She brightened, smiling at him even though he couldn't see it. Settling onto the couch on his right side, she carefully pried off his mask, setting it aside. His deformed skin looked much the same as it had the night of Meg's masquerade party, still enflamed, the sores open and oozing at his cheekbone and upper forehead. Luckily, she saw no major signs of infection, so he should easily heal if he would let his skin breathe properly.

She set to work, dabbing at his face with the softest washcloth she could find and patting the flesh dry. The entire time, he kept his eyes tightly closed. As gently as she could, she applied a little Neosporin to the worse of the lesions.

"There, all done."

His hand spasmed, seeking his mask, but she stopped him with a gentle caress across the back of his hand.

"Please, Erik, you need to keep your mask off so you can heal."

"Let me put it on." She hated the sound of rising panic that hoarsened his lovely voice. She realized that having both his shirt and mask off at the same time was more than he could bear, an exposure deeper than any he had encountered, certainly with her. She tucked the white piece of porcelain into his hands, so he wouldn't think she was hiding it from him or intentionally forcing him to remain laid out on display.

"Go ahead, if you must, but I really wish you wouldn't."

"Christine…"

Careful to keep her body from pressing against his, she kissed the sharp angle of his shoulder, over one of his scars, the puckered skin papery under her lips. She traced its path down his arm, then chose another and chased it across his collar bone. Pausing there, she let her lips hover above his skin, checking his reaction. His hands had fisted on his thighs, his eyes still held closed, his lean stomach bunched. She shifted a little closer and touched her lips to his neck, the beginning curve of his jaw, a point below his ear along the edge of his wig. She kept her kisses far from any of the sores on his face, caressing with her lips the malformed ridge of his eyebrow and the flattened portion of his nose.

Finally, she brought her caresses to the bloated corner of his mouth, where his lips darkened and stretched thickly, kissing him once there before planting a full embrace on his mouth.

He shuddered under her ministrations, and she longed to peel back his wig so she might kiss his scalp and smooth back his real hair, but instead she sat back while stroking the whole portion of his face.

"Open your eyes and look at me, Erik, please."

His eyelashes fluttered before they parted, and yellow eyes peered at her only a foot away. The eyelid on his ruined side had a permanent pull downward, causing that eye to remain wider than the other. She kissed that drooping edge and pulled back again, knowing he was searching for her every reaction, for any hint that she was afraid or disgusted. And she knew with finite certainty that he would fine none.

His hands drifted between them to cup her face, his palms rough and cool against her skin. Oh how she loved those musician hands.

"You must be an angel," he whispered.

She laughed softly. "Hardly. I don't even believe in angels."

"Neither did I but I might have to begin." His face was so full of wonder that she had to dip her head and kiss him again to hide the flush that no doubt tinted her cheeks pink. "Hey, Erik, I bought you something else today."

"What is that?" he inquired, words a bit muffled as he dragged his lips to her temple and began pressing kisses to her hair.

"I'll show you when it's time for bed." When his eyebrow rose, she was sure she blushed even more. "Nothing like _that_. I just saw them and thought of you. For now, you want to read together or something? Or sing, maybe?"

That caught his attention away from kissing his way around her head. "Sing?"

"Yeah. I don't know how thick these walls are, but we could always sing... softly?"

He snorted at that. "And ruin your voice with the strain. As much as I would adore to hear you sing again, my dear, I would rather wait until you are able to use your full potential."

Okay, fair enough. "Would you play something, then?"

"If you wish."

He rose, pulling her to her feet. God, he was tall, towering over her even when he was not trying. She wanted to run her hands over his chest again, kiss her away across the pale planes, make her way to the scarred ruin of his back and map his past with her lips, soothe the hurt he still carried. However, she just watched as he replaced his shirt, leaving the top button undone. She glanced away a bit as he tucked the ends into his pants, feeling a little awkward at the intimacy of the act.

Then, he was holding his mask between them, but she didn't dare touch it again.

"You don't have to put that back on for me," she told him. "I would rather you kept it off so your face can heal."

"That is not possible," he grunted.

"Okay," she said gently. "How about if you keep it off at night? I'm asleep as long as I'm not having insomnia, and so you can relax while your face breathes a bit."

He seemed to curl into himself a little, his shoulders hunching, his discomfort evident. She really shouldn't get mad at him, not about this, but he was so _insistent_ at doing everything that only caused him more pain.

She puffed a sigh. "Please, do whatever you want, Erik. I'm going to play piano." Leaving him standing there, she crossed the room and sat upon the bench. She was nowhere near as good a player as Erik, but she had taken years enough of lessons to be able to launch herself into a lively rendition of Joe Hisaishi's _Summer_ , an upbeat composition that always made her want to get into a car and start driving somewhere with a beach.

She made it about halfway into the song before Erik's long fingers joined hers on the keys. He scooted next to her, on her left, his unmasked face in full view as he sent the melody into a lower register, weaving a new thread through the song she spun. They finished together, the last notes of their combined effort hanging in the air.

She twisted on the bench to speak, but he shushed her with a sincere, "Thank you for everything you did."

"You're welcome." She plinked out a few bars of nothing in particular. "You don't have to thank me."

"Even so."

They seemed to be able to move on after that. They played together for a while longer. She lost track of time as she let the music take her over, entranced by the melodies he knew off the top of the head and the way he could improvise anything she tossed at him. He had an uncanny knack of being able to take a piece of music and transcend it, such as taking the slow melody of a classic piece and turning it upside down until it resembled something else entirely.

She had known he was brilliant, had seen glimpses of his intellect before, but the ease at which he manipulated music left her breathless.

This man was a genius.

She wanted to press on, to witness more of what he could do, maybe convince him to play something original, but soon, he was tucking her hands away and closing the piano keys' cover.

"Enough for today," he said, offering her his hand, which she accepted without hesitation. "The hour grows late, and I am done waiting for my present."

She laughed at that. "Weren't your earlier gifts enough?"

"I don't often receive them, so no."

That sobered her, but she brushed the darker thoughts aside. "All right, then, monsieur. This way."

* * *

 **Maybe her wish has to do with her present? Hmm...**


	20. Chapter 20

**As always, the reviews keep me going. I have one more week before I start work again. I hope to pump out 2-3 more chapters in the next week, and then my production will slow to about 1 chapter a week. Your reviews are fantastic motivation!**

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

Erik followed her upstairs, heaving the curtain aside for them both. She had never seen him walk around so long without his mask on – the exposed moment had always been fleeting. Still, he kept it off as she had requested. The sheen of the greasy antibiotic cream highlighted the gruesome ridges, and she noticed the way he turned carefully to keep that side of his face away from her as much as possible.

Maybe her gift wasn't the best thing to give him right now, while he was unmasked. He stood expectantly, however, and she didn't think she could turn back now. Digging into the bag of clothes she had bought earlier that day, she fetched his gift and held it out to him.

His eyes flitted to the present and up to her face. The silence between them stretched out a little longer than was comfortable.

"They're pajamas," she said quickly, feeling the urge to babble overtake her. "I saw them in one of the nicer stores while I was out. I thought you might like them." She paused, but when he remained a statue, she continued, "They're silk and really high quality – I know that matters to you. I didn't know if you had any, and eventually, you _do_ need to sleep, right?"

Finally, he reached out and took the folded package from her. He set it upon the bed, untied the ribbon that held the two pieces of clothing together together, and held up a black button-down, long-sleeved shirt.

"I… never considered pajamas," he said, a bit too slowly as though he didn't know what to say.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I-I remembered that first night you came to Boston and you wore my father's old pjs. You slept then, and I wanted… I thought you might…" She trailed off. He still wore that expressionless look on his face. She was foolish for thinking he might want to try to sleep, much less in pajamas instead of his normal clothes. The man didn't do anything like a typical guy might, and she had seriously overstepped her bounds here.

She had told him she loved him, and he had said… something similar, but they hadn't declared themselves in a relationship. There had been no talk of _boyfriends_ or girlfriends or anything close to that. Weren't pajamas a gift a wife might buy a husband? What had she been _thinking_?

Erik cleared his throat. "You want me to wear these?"

"To sleep, yes," she said, miserable. Couldn't he just hand them back and let her return them? She'd rather he did that than trying to placate her.

"I have never worn such a thing."

"I get it, Erik. It's okay." She tried to take the shirt from him, but he held it out of her reach.

"You misunderstand, Christine. I have never _thought_ to wear pajamas."

She blinked at him to remove the tears from her eyes. Why was she getting so emotional over this? She wanted so badly to spend time with him, and yes, that might eventually sleeping in a bed with him. He didn't have to wear pajamas for that to happen, but this was a man who rarely even considered sleep at all.

"You have never thought about it?" she asked, needing clarification.

He fingered the silky material as he spoke. "I have always lived alone. At the worst moments, I needed to stay dressed in order to be able to flee at a second's notice. At the best moments, sleep was always an afterthought, merely something that happened when I grew too weary to go on without a few hours rest. These habits are nothing I ever considered changing."

"You don't have to change them, especially for me."

"I want to change them," he said, eyes suddenly bright. "For you." He stepped close to her, took her chin, and gave her one sweet kiss that warmed her heart.

So she hadn't messed up after all; she had made the right choice. This first full day aboard the Queen Eleanor had truly been fantastic. More than ever, her decision to stay at his side stood out as the correct one to have made. Watching him examine the pants, she didn't have any regrets.

A quick glance at the alarm clock told her it was nearing eleven. The way the ship traveled west to east, and the way time zones worked, they lost an hour every day of their voyage. After the terrific sleep of last night, she didn't want to overtire herself again.

"Bedtime?" she asked.

He nodded. "Do you wish for me to play again as you fall asleep?"

"I thought you didn't want it to be habit-forming," she said, grinning. "Of course I would love that."

His thumb brushed across her chin, his fingernail lightly grazing her bottom lip. "Get ready for bed. I will return shortly." He left, taking the pajamas with him.

Heading for the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into a comfortable t-shirt and pajama pants. She left on her bra since Erik was coming back into her room.

She settled into bed, debated on whether or not to turn off the bedside lamp. A light was still on downstairs, so with the thick curtain pulled back a little, the room wouldn't be in complete darkness. She snuggled down into the blankets, facing the chair that Erik had previously moved into the room next to the bed.

"Christine?" his voice called. This room didn't have a door, so he couldn't exactly knock. He stood by the open edge of the curtain.

"Come on in," she replied.

He stepped into the room, carrying his violin, and _wearing the pajamas._

She hid the lower half of her face in the covers to hide her shocked reaction. Never had she expected him to go ahead and put them on, especially in front of her. The comfort had been for him alone to enjoy. But there he stood, black silk framing his tall, lithe body, his angular feet bare. She was staring, she knew, but how could she not? He had accepted her gift, put it on this very night, and now she wanted nothing more than to run her hands across the silk-clad hardness of his chest.

She coughed to cover up her own nervousness as he wordlessly sat in the chair and began to play. Like last night, he easily pulled a melody from the violin that normally would have lulled her to sleep without difficulty. However, this time she was too distracted by his appearance to let her eyes close.

After a while of playing, he lowered the instrument. "Not sufficient tonight, my dear?"

She tucked herself even further down. "No, it's not that. You're playing beautifully."

"Perhaps Bach, then?" He paused, and then said softer, "Or is that not it?"

Oh, she'd been caught. She took too long to respond, the responses all jumbled in her head and not sounded perfectly right before she could say them. His hand came up to cover the misshapen half of his face. He was rising from the chair, striding to the break in the curtain.

"I should go."

"No, no, no!" She threw back the blankets and rushed after him, clasping his sleeve. "Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you think… I don't know what you're thinking. But please don't go. I'm so happy you're wearing them."

His jaw was clenched, unnamed emotion swirling in his hooded gaze. He cut a rigid silhouette against the light coming in from downstairs. Did _he_ think he looked ridiculous or terrifying? He was far from it. She remembered how he had slept on her couch in pajama pants and an old Hanes t-shirt, so at ease for that brief second. She wanted him to relax like that again, to be able to unwind and rest.

But most importantly, she wanted him to be comfortable _around her_.

He allowed her to guide him back toward the side of the bed, and he took his seat again. He didn't resume playing, holding himself stiffly, straight-backed in the chair. His hand hadn't left his face.

She got back into bed, trying to show him that she wanted him to be there. "Please play again, Erik. I promise to close my eyes this time so I'm not distracted by how… you look."

" _What?_ "

He was getting that _I'm about to bolt_ posture again. She quickly sat up again, holding out her hands to stop him. "I'm sorry! I'm getting this all wrong." She took a deep breath. "The pajamas look very nice on you."

"Nice?"

Oh god the man was going to make her spell it out? "I didn't get you those for anything but your own comfort, but you look nice. You look…" What other word could she use that wouldn't cause her extreme embarrassment? Attractive? Beautiful? Captivating? Gorgeous? Sexy?

Her head spinning, she inserted a different adjective, trying her best to explain.

He was staring at her with undisguised shock. What had she said? She backtracked and found a blank spot in her mind for which word she had used, her rising panic causing her to momentarily lose track of her thoughts, and _what_ had she said out loud? By his reaction, she must have used more than "attractive." She squeaked and buried her head into the blankets, hiding completely.

"Christine-"

"I'm sorry!" she said, muffled under the covers. "You look _good_ , okay? I find you very… good."

A long silence followed while she wallowed in her own mortification. She heard rustling, and then he began to play again, this time something brilliant and beautiful, something she didn't recognize. She waited a long time before she dared peek her head out again. His eyes were closed, but his face was calmer, the corner of his mouth the tiniest hint of a curve upward.

Okay, she hadn't completely messed that up.

She let herself relax, his composition soothing her fears. Finally, sometime during his song, sleep claimed her.

She had no idea how long she slept before she woke in a sleepy haze. All lights were off, and she blinked in the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she caught sight of a shadow near the bed. Erik still sat in the chair, his body slumped, his head propped against one elegant hand. A moment later, twin amber eyes glowed as they opened and stared at her.

"You're still here," she whispered.

"I am," he replied, voice also soft in the darkness. "I wanted to make sure you rested well."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Briefly. Go back to sleep, my dear."

She hesitated, then asked, "Are you still tired?"

The shadow shifted, long legs stretching out. "I am."

"Then you should sleep too." Before she could lose the courage born out of her own half-asleep state, she folded the covers back from the side of the bed closest to him, scooting back to make room.

She didn't wait for a response. She closed her eyes and felt sleep start to overtake her again. Seconds later, minutes later, an hour later, she wasn't sure – the bed dipped as he sat on it. Ages later, he lay down. She sighed happily, reached out, and felt the edge of the silk of his shirt.

Cold fingers ghosted along her own bare arm at the elbow, running up to stroke her hair from her face.

She had dipped in a toe; she might as well jump in. She shifted closer before he could do anything and put her arm around his waist, tucking her face against his chest. Here, under the blankets, with her own body lined up with his, he began to warm, no longer feeling quite so cold. His hand had stilled on her hair.

In the darkness, she heard his entreaty. "May I touch you, Christine?"

She should have asked how, probably. Should have asked _where_. But she didn't.

"Yes."

Those fingers drifted down and found the hem of her t-shirt and dipped underneath. She held her breath, pressed her face closer to him, waited for what he would do. The pads of his fingertips sent goosebumps rising on her skin as they caressed the dip of her lower back and traveled upward, mapping the gradual rise of her back, the slight bumps of her spine, skipping over the line of her bra, and tracing around the blade of her shoulder.

How could a touch upon her back seem so sensual? For a brief second, she flashed back to when he had done something similar, right after she had bandaged his bullet wound for the first time, and the thought of his murderous hands had revolted her. Now, she sank into the touch, that time a thousand miles away.

"I love you," she murmured into his chest.

His fingers danced along her skin, lulling her back to sleep with a different kind of song.

She woke to the sound of the curtain being tossed back, throwing morning light across the room. He was lucky it was a cloudy day, the brightness muted by dark clouds spreading across the sky; otherwise, she might have thrown a pillow at him.

It was a good thing she hadn't thrown anything. He was carrying a tray of food. He had changed into his usual clothing, a bowtie at his neck today, his mask in place.

"Good morning," she said, sitting up. "What's that?"

"Breakfast for you, my dear, in bed as my thanks."

She didn't bother asking for what he was thanking her, likely knowing the answer already. She grinned at him, letting him set the tray on her lap. "This looks awesome. Have you eaten?"

"Tea, which is enough."

"Good!" She grabbed her fork and dove into her plate of pancakes. "I wouldn't want to share anyway. These look so delicious!"

She ate her way through half the stack of pancakes before she stopped to look over at him. He had settled back into his chair, watching her, at ease.

"Did you get anymore sleep?" she asked, taking a sip of orange juice.

"I did, actually."

That pleased her immensely, that she could help him relax enough to let his body heal and rest. She happily kept on eating.

Resting his elbows on the sides of the chair, he steepled his fingers. "I started a round of antibiotics, which will aid in the healing of my side."

"That's great, Erik!"

"I will let you change the bandage later, if you wish."

"And… maybe you'll take your mask off again tonight? So your skin can heal?"

He nodded, not even putting up a fight.

She downed the rest of her juice, pushed the tray aside, and climbed out of bed. She couldn't stand it any longer. She felt giddy, her body light. Was this the stirring of happiness once again within her? In any case, she knew she had a wide smile plastered on her face as she rushed to him and planted a sticky, syrupy kiss on his mouth.

At Erik's insistence she get out of the cabin, she made plans to see an abbreviated version of Shakespeare's _Much Ado about Nothing_ in the theatre, for which she had to dress up. She put on a pair of dress pants with a silk blouse and fitted black suit jacket on top.

Outside, it had started to drizzle a little, the clouds rolling in thicker. She caught sight of some white caps outside before she kissed Erik goodbye and headed out.

The theatre was gorgeous, all rounded curves and plush red seating. Soon after she entered the room, she caught sight of someone waving at her from across the expansive room. It was Nadir, and she flew across the space to give him a big hug.

"Christine!" he said, holding her at arm's length. "I'm thrilled to see your face again. You look well."

"I am!" She hugged him again. "Thank you so much, Nadir!"

He chuckled, and the two of them found seats next to each other in the theatre. "I take it things are going well between you and our mutual friend?"

"They are – really, really well, I think. He's starting to relax more around me, and we've been enjoying spending time with each other without all the drama." She didn't want to give details. Nadir was Erik's close acquaintance before he was Christine's, and she didn't want to ruin any confidence Erik might have at their secrecy.

"He's being a gentleman, I hope?"

"Of course."

"I never had much doubt that he wouldn't be, but I am glad to hear it."

They talked for a while longer until the show started. Christine was relieved to have someone to talk to in the outside world. While she always enjoyed any conversation with Erik, he wasn't one for small talk or prolonged discussions about anything – he clearly had little practice. That was something she hoped would develop between them over time, but for now, Nadir was excellent for talking about any topic she might bring up. The Iranian was nothing but friendly and cordial toward her, a true friend she was lucky to have on this journey.

After the show, they got lunch together, debating back and forth about the quality of the performers and the shortened version of the play. They were on one of the lower decks, and sea spray kept hitting the windows, making her a little nervous. A door nearby kept opening and shutting on its own until someone latched it closed. A cart of food tried to head down the restaurant on its own.

The captain came over the loudspeaker to announce that they were closing the lowest two decks due to higher waves and faster winds. Rain began to pound onto the walkway outside.

Nadir promised to see her and Erik both for dinner at their stateroom later that evening, and they parted ways.

As she started back to the room, she had to keep a tight grip on the handrail while she walked. The roll of the ship made walking in a straight line extremely difficult, and she saw other passengers bumping into walls as they lost their balance for a moment. The ship groaned around her, the hallway echoing the pings and creaks. In her head, she knew that the Queen Eleanor was built specifically to handle rough seas like this, but she wished she'd had Nadir escort her back to the room.

By the time she reached her cabin's door, she was a shaking mess, her hair plastered to her forehead in a nervous sweat. She hadn't had a true panic attack in a long time, but this was the closest she had gotten. She darted inside and stood panting by the closed door.

Erik was at her side in a flash, clasping her shoulders and peering into her face. "What is wrong? What happened?"

"The storm," she choked out. "Sorry – it freaked me out."

Just then, the captain announced that all outside decks were closed due to the weather. It was expected to get worse before it got better, but no worries – they weren't likely to lose any time in their journey. Not that Christine worried about time right about now.

Erik pulled her to him, and she relished the hug for a moment, breathing in his unique scent. He had lost the dampness that had clung to him in Paris, and now he smelled only of sandalwood and soap and the uniqueness that was only Erik.

"No fear," he said, stroking her hair. "This ship can handle worse than this."

She laughed a little. "I don't know if I can, though."

"I will be here." He tilted her face up with a finger under her chin, and the seriousness in his eyes took her breath away. "There is nothing you cannot brave."

She swayed a little, not only from him, the floor seemingly to shift under her feet. One arm tight around her back, Erik brought her to a chair near the balcony, saying it would be best if she looked outside for a while. He was right, she knew. A view of the horizon would help settle her stomach whenever she was feeling queasy.

"What would you like, my dear? Music? Reading?"

"I would love to hear you play," she replied. But she wanted him near her more than that right now. "But do you think you would read to me? I love your voice and – and that would distract me."

He nodded and brought over one of the books she had chosen for him, a novella written by a Frenchman about traveling Europe. As she kept her gaze on the horizon, Erik began to read. She had never heard him speak so much, certainly not all in a row, and his voice slid over her as smoothly as though he was singing. She loved the hint of French accent he had, and something else, maybe a carryover from his years spent in Iran. He pronounced the French words in the novel with a deliciousness that made her unable to keep from glancing at him. He sat across from her, one long leg crossed over the other knee at the ankle.

Soon, he was closing the book and saying it was time for dinner soon, if she needed to do anything before then. She did, heading up to her room with careful steps to freshen up and take off her jacket. The way back down seemed more daunting, and eventually she decided to scoot down on her butt for safety's sake, ignoring the look Erik gave her.

There was a knock on the door, and she opened it to find Nadir standing there. Christine had already told Erik about running into the other man earlier that day, and while he had scoffed, he hadn't said anything more about it. Now, he followed her to the door, surveying the older man with cool indifference.

"Erik," Nadir said, inclining his head.

"Daroga."

Christine ushered Nadir in, and the three of them settled in the living room while waiting for dinner to arrive. She had made sure to order another serving for Nadir as well. Erik poured two glasses of wine, and swept a hand at Nadir.

"Do you drink regularly now?"

Nadir held up a hand. "The one experience was enough, thank you."

Erik said nothing more about it, handing Christine her glass and sitting next to her on the couch while Nadir sat across from them.

"I do thank you for the slice of chocolate pie, by the way," Nadir said smoothly.

Christine almost choked on her gulp of wine, looking back and forth between the two men. "Pie?"

Erik's lips twitched. "I hope it was sufficient. There was no cake to be had."

"It was as delicious as I'd hoped, though I was surprised to find it lacking in poison."

"Come now, old man. You know I have never cared for poison. The results are too messy."

Christine was a little wide-eyed, but she kept silent. She would never quite understand the relationship between these two. Despite all the drama of the past two days, they seemed quite back to their normal temperature.

Dinner arrived, and they went to the dining table to eat. Erik made sure she sat closer to the tall windows so she could look outside if she needed to, but even so, she felt the queasiness start to well up again. She often put down her fork and set her eyes on the horizon, but that made her even more aware of much the ship was tilting in response to the massive swells outside.

Rain beat against the window, the wind whistled furiously, and she closed her eyes, hearing the creak of the ship all too loudly in her ears. She really shouldn't have had that glass of wine, nor eaten this rich food. Her stomach felt heavy, like a dark bubble had settled deep inside. Her arms and legs were difficult to move, and she rested both hands on the table, trying to plant herself within the space.

She was aware that both men had stopped talking. She felt their stares on her, but she couldn't look at either of them. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the food in front of her either.

A weight settled on one of her hands. Erik leaned over and spoke in her ear, helping her focus on his words. "Christine? What is wrong?"

"I don't feel so good," she managed to say, her own voice sounding far away.

"Are you having a panic attack?"

She pressed the back of her other hand to her mouth. "S-sorta? Not really. This feels different."

"Seasickness," Nadir said. "Even the strongest stomachs can have trouble during a storm." She heard his chair draw back across the floor as he stood. "Do you have anything that would help, Erik?"

"Unlikely," the other man replied.

"Have her suck on the lemon from her drink, then. I will see what drugs I can find. I will return as quickly as I can."

Opening her eyes, she shot Nadir a thankful glance, and then turned her gaze to the horizon, trying to stabilize herself. Sensing her intent, Erik helped her face the window and handed her the slice of lemon. Both of his hands settled on her shoulders from behind, his thumbs massaging slow circles along the base of her neck.

The ship pitched back and forth. The line of the horizon itself was difficult to find, the dark clouds blending into the gray, white-capping swells. Christine had never seen waves that huge before, as tall as a building. At the bottom of a wave, the lower deck must be completely underwater. The wind whistled past the balcony - one of the chairs flew against the far wall. She was caught on a rollercoaster that she could not get off. A cold sweat broke out across her body.

Over the loud speaker, the captain announced that all passengers were confined to their cabins for the duration of the night, for safety's sake. They would announce in the morning when anyone could venture forth, but they should all plan to have breakfast in their rooms, so please set out their menu orders on their door handles.

That was when Christine felt the bubble in the pit of her stomach rise up, and she vomited.

* * *

 **Only 2-3 chapters left on the ship, if I've estimated correctly. Poor Christine!**


	21. Chapter 21

**I used my own experience of months of pregnancy-induced vomiting and one bout of terrible seasickness for this chapter, as well as watching videos on YouTube of real storms aboard cruise ships. I made myself gag while writing this. You're welcome!**

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

 _Oh god! I'm gonna puke!_

She tried to get to somewhere else; she really did. The downstairs bathroom was too far away, but she might've been able to make it to the tiny sink by the bar. However, as soon as she attempted to stand, her world pitched to the side, and she was throwing up before she even made it to her hands and knees.

The sudden stench hit her hard, the feeling of partially digested food in her mouth causing her to vomit again, adding to the spreading pile before her near the balcony door.

She was aware of strong hands pulling her hair tight at the back of her head. Oh right, Erik had been massaging her neck, and now he was holding her hair away from the mess on her face. She finally made it to her knees, her hands slipping in the sick. She fought to take in shaky breaths, her eyes clenched shut because if she saw the puddle before her, she'd lose it again.

"Can you stand?" Erik asked, his voice calm and soothing.

She moaned in agony. The vomiting had pushed out tears and snot, and she had never felt more pathetic than she did then. She hadn't thrown up since her last treatment of chemo well over a year ago, and it was an experience she hoped to never replicate.

Not waiting any longer for a response, he scooped her into his arms, managing to keep her hair cascading over his elbow instead of into her face. She had seen him move quickly before, but the trip into her bedroom seemed to take mere seconds. He deposited her gently onto her feet near the sink, turning on the tap so she could rinse out her mouth and brush her teeth, the first thing she wanted to do after washing her hands. She also scrubbed clean her face and arms to her elbows while Erik hovered nearby.

The activity was too much, and she sank to the bathroom floor, the tile cold beneath her. She fought the nausea for what seemed like ages, heard the pop of Erik's knees as he crouched next to her.

"Christine, your clothes. You need to change."

He was right – she could smell the bile. But it was all she could do to stay calm, to continue to breathe in and out steadily. How could she possibly go through the complicated motions of changing? The mere thought of pulling her own arms out of her shirt seemed overwhelming.

And always, the swaying of the ship continued, a never-ending tilt and dip that had even closed the door behind them.

"I can't," she said, a sob following her admission. She hated this helplessness, which tossed her back to her months of treatment, the days when she hadn't been able to hold a cup of water on her own. Afterward, she had wanted to be nothing but strong, to take care of herself.

And yet, hadn't Erik been there since they met, willing to help her in any way she needed? The first day they met, he had carried her, bandaged her sprained ankle, and brought her food and water.

And she knew he would help her now.

But the asking for assistance was so, so difficult. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes as more tears flowed. "Could – could you help me? Please?"

There was silence, followed by the hoarseness of his voice saying, "If you do not mind."

She shook her head, unable to open her eyes to look at him. She leaned against the tub as he left to find her pajamas, bringing back the pants she had worn last night and a fresh t-shirt from her drawer. He didn't speak as he helped her undress except to give gentle instructions, which were few. Mostly, his cool touch guided her, letting her know when to raise or lower an arm, when to duck her head.

The cold air hit her bare skin as he maneuvered her blouse over her head without getting the mess on her. She knew what he could see in the bright light of the bathroom: her plain, beige-colored bra, the two triangles filled with the silicone breasts that did not quite cover up her scars. She shivered and folded her arms across herself, but soon he was offering the clean t-shirt to her, guiding her arms through the holes and tugging it over her head.

"My dear, your pants."

Oh right. She could feel the dampness on her knees, and she had to get them off. She managed to unlatch the button, unzip them, and tug them down to her thighs, so thankful to have worn underwear that day that covered her well. Was it cute, though? She couldn't remember, and she couldn't look as the next pitch of the ship sent her vision swimming once again. Cuteness was the last thing she should worry about right now.

She was cold and sweating at the same time, and so done with sitting on this hard floor. She began to cry again at the ridiculousness of it all.

Erik pressed a wet washcloth into her hands, and she covered her eyes with it, enjoying the warmth for a moment. Then she felt him begin to tug her pants the rest of the way down her legs, his long fingers wrapping around one calf and then the other as he eased her feet free of the material. He washed and dried her knees with gentle caresses of cloth, and the scent of vomit began to ease from the room.

With an ease that showed his strength, he picked her up once more and laid her in bed. The mattress dipped around her with his weight. He slid the legs of her pajama pants to her knees, paused for a long moment, and pulled them high until they caught on the rise of her bottom.

"Christine," he said, his tone begging.

She cracked her eyes open to see him hovering over her on the bed, his own golden gaze wide with barely concealed panic. Flinging her arms around his neck, she yanked him down until he was flush with her body, not caring that her pants were still around her thighs. She hoped she was whispering "I love you" in his ear because that was what her mind had put together. I love you, I love you, I love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She kissed his neck above his bow tie because that was all she could reach without moving more.

He shifted next to her, and with a sudden force she thought was born of desperation, hooked his thumb into her pants and tugged them over her bottom and to her waist.

Their bodies lurched sideways in the bed with the force of a sudden wave that lifted the front of the ship and sent them crashing down across the curve of water. Christine groaned and clung to Erik. Was she not able to rest even while in bed? Maybe she should sleep on the floor of the bathroom after all.

When he pulled away from her, she sobbed, "Don't leave me!"

"Only for a moment," he promised. "Nadir has returned." She hadn't even heard the knock on the door, her senses focused on the deep pings of the ship's hull.

Mere moments stretched into an eternity before Erik came back. He clicked on a nearby light and dug into a grocery bag Nadir must have given him.

"She can't keep these down," Erik said, voice sharp, and she realized he wasn't speaking to her. Nadir had followed him into the room, and she tried to smile weakly at him. His lined face was the picture of concern.

"Try the patch," Nadir said, showing him a different package. "It will take hours to become effective, but it will last several days."

Erik pressed something behind Christine's right ear and stroked her hair.

Nadir sighed. "Besides that, there is not much we can do besides wait. Once she is able, she can sip on the ginger ale. Don't let her have anything but bland food tomorrow."

"You are staying tonight."

"Am I?"

"Knowing you, you are likely to fall on your long trek back to your cabin and break your neck. Stay in the extra room until the storm has calmed."

Christine saw the warm look Nadir gave the other man before he nodded and murmured goodnight to them both. "I will clean the mess," he said at the edge of the curtain. "Stay focused on her."

Erik told Christine he would return quickly, and he followed Nadir out of the room. While she waited, she continued to fight with the roll of the ship, grasping the sheet beneath her to try to stay still. How could she possibly sleep if she had to hold on for dear life all night? She felt a sob well up again and swallowed it down.

Erik soon came back. She caught glimpses of him moving the nightstand between the bed and the wall of the bathroom, carrying off the lamp as well. "Hold on," he told her, and he was shoving the bed against the wall with a force that seemed inhuman.

Then he was climbing back into bed, his body pressing against hers without hesitation, pulling her into his arms, and he was clad once again in the silk pajamas she had bought him. His cold feet briefly touched hers as he shifted, his upper body stretching away for a moment. She realized he had set his mask on the remaining nightstand at his back.

And he was again around her, comforting her with the magnitude of his presence. The blankets were pulled over both of them, and then he scooted her backward until her back was pressed against the wall. The wall behind her, her man before her, Christine found herself in a cocoon that allowed her to finally loosen her hold on the sheets. She sagged against him, fought a rush of tears, and failed to still them.

His lips pressed to her forehead, her cheek, her nose. His free hand danced up and down her back.

She couldn't stand it any longer, the dig of her bra into her tender skin, especially sandwiched the way she was. "Erik," she choked out. "I need to take this off." She tugged on her bra strap to show him what she meant.

The hand on her back stilled at once. If he forced her to explain or ask further for help, she wasn't sure what she would do beyond fall further into pieces. Instead, that hand drifted to the bottom of her shirt, dipped under it, and found its way in the dark to the strap across her back. He unlatched it with sure fingers, pulled his hand free of her shirt, and found the strap on her shoulder, sliding it down and off her arm. She rolled onto her back so he could do the same to the other strap.

Suddenly, she was released from the confines, the garment falling with the weight of the silicone to the side of her shirt. She moved to pull the bra out, but Erik's hand was quicker, sliding across the bare skin of her belly until he located the edge of the undergarment. He dragged it free, and he was shifting across the bed, laying it across the dresser.

She held her breath as he returned, but she needn't have feared. He swept her into his arms once again, his hand finding the smooth, unencumbered expanse of her back.

Over time, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow, her own hands smoothing over his shirt instead of gripping it tightly. She could feel ridges of raised scars scattered across the muscles of his back, and for some reason, the reminder of his past helped keep her focused on the present instead of giving herself over to the rocking of the ship yet again.

She wanted to map his scarred face with her fingertips, but that side was tucked against his pillow. Finally, she felt steady enough to speak. "Do you need to change your bandage? What about your face?"

She felt rather than heard a low, rumbling chuckle from him. "Here you are, unable to care even for yourself, and you still think of me. No, my dear, I am fine. I changed it myself earlier, and last night without my mask did wonders for my face."

He kissed the top of her head, and to her delight, began to sing softly. Sometimes he spoke words mingled in the music; sometimes he drew out notes that needed no language to convey emotion. His hands waltzed over her back, matching the slow rhythms. She tucked her face against him, her ear close to his throat, and listened to the vibrations that came from deep within him.

* * *

Christine managed to doze on and off throughout the night. Whenever she woke, Erik was there, coaxing her back to sleep with song and touch. When the first bit of daylight peaked through the curtain, she tried to sit up and started gagging. He gave her sips of ginger ale and a few saltines that helped to calm her empty stomach.

Once she had woken up more, Erik drew back the heavy bedroom curtain all of the way, opening her room to the rest of the cabin. He also pulled back the curtains covering the windows, letting in the overcast light but also ensuring that she had direct line of sight to the horizon upstairs as well as down. He was a flurry of activity after he changed back into regular clothes and replaced his mask, setting her up in an armchair upstairs near the window, closer to the bathroom than she would be downstairs.

Christine felt a little self-conscious staying in her pajamas for most of the day, but she couldn't possibly muster up enough energy to shower and change. Her bra lay stretched across the dresser where Erik had left it, and as soon as she got a moment to herself, she slid it into a drawer. After he settled her into a chair, Erik tucked a blanket around her, and that made her feel more secure, letting her hide her flat chest.

Nadir emerged at one point from the guest bedroom, looking disheveled in the rumpled brown suit he had slept in. He waved up at her when he saw her. Then he just stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, appearing to zone out. Apparently he hadn't slept well either.

Erik, who was downstairs fetching her a piece of toast from the breakfast cart, went to his side. The two men spoke in low tones where she couldn't hear, and Nadir reacted by nodding. Whatever it was they talked about, they parted amicably.

By the late morning, the captain had lifted the restriction that kept all passengers in their rooms, so Nadir was free to head back to his own cabin. When he came upstairs to say goodbye to her, with the promise to check in tomorrow, he looked beyond ready for a shower and a nap. He bent down and patted her knee. She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Surprisingly, Erik didn't frown at the affection passed between them, which Christine saw as huge progress.

Besides that, she mostly dozed the day away. Erik tried to entertain her with reading more from the novel he had started yesterday, but often she was so drained or queasy that she couldn't concentrate enough to follow the plot. Sometimes she would hear piano drift up from downstairs. Once, she found herself back in bed, tucked warmly in the blankets, and she had napped away almost two hours.

After that, she tried to eat a little, for it was nearing dinner and she was beginning to feel hunger pains. However, the rice was too salty and the chicken too flavorful, and she could only take a few bites before she pushed back the plate. At least she managed to make it to the bathroom this time, and she didn't have much to upchuck.

By the time the sun had almost vanished below the horizon, the choppy waters were beginning to finally ease, no longer the size of two-story houses. Fog had rolled in, coating everything in a soft, billowy white.

When Erik joined her in bed that night, she buried her face in his chest in a position that was now becoming well-known. He smelled differently, the silk having a slight lavender scent. She pulled back enough to frown up at him.

"Did you do laundry?" she asked, her throat sore.

"The butler sent them off. Your clothes as well."

"Ah."

She settled back into the comfort of his arms.

And day four of their journey passed.

* * *

She slept fitfully that night as well, and even though Erik didn't leave her side, she could tell he was more on edge. She didn't throw up at all overnight, but her body felt heavy and sore, like she had spent too much time lying about in the same positions.

That morning, for the first time since she had gotten seasick, she decided to come downstairs. She put on her long robe, a thick, ratty old thing that she really needed to replace, and let Erik carry her to the lower level. She wanted a little fresh air, and insisted on going out on the balcony despite Erik's protest.

The storm had ushered in cold air, which actually felt good as the breeze pushed through her hair. The sea was much calmer than it had been last night, although she could tell it had rained again at some point. She reclined on one of the lounge chairs while Erik lingered in the doorway. What she wouldn't give for a little sunshine to bring some color back to her skin. If it wasn't raining, maybe she could try out the hot tub tomorrow, if she thought she wouldn't try to pass out.

More than anything, she felt weak. She had barely eaten in almost two days, and she could tell she had lost a little weight. At least now she was able to keep fluids down, so Nadir had stopped threatening to call an onboard nurse.

Even so, she could sense the tension in Erik. He had barely left her side this whole time, and he clearly hadn't been resting as much as he should. She had an idea of how to get him out of her hair for a little while, so she twisted around a bit to grin at him.

"I want to take a bath."

His eyes went round, what she now knew was his way of showing her that she had just freaked him out. She doubted he even knew how expressive his face could be sometimes.

She continued easily, "If you can get me upstairs, I'm pretty sure I can handle it. You can go off and do something on your own for an hour or so." Perfect plan, she thought.

He visibly swallowed and nodded. "Now?"

"Now," she agreed.

He picked her up – she didn't bother protesting this as she knew walking up those steps would drain her – and deposited her in the master bathroom. He shifted his feet.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No," she said, shooing him out gently. "I'll be fine. Go relax. Shower, change, do whatever."

He bent and kissed her, now such a common occurrence that she had already tilted her face up for it, and left the room, closing the curtain around the bedroom before he headed back downstairs.

Moving slowly so she didn't wear herself out, she gathered a change of clothes – _real_ clothes, along with her bra – and took them into the bathroom. She ran the water as hot as she thought she could stand it and dumped in a bit of the rose-scented bubble bath she had found.

She managed to shed her pajamas, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of her own body. She hated to think she had been in this sort of shape around Erik. After days of sweat, puke, and little else, she was in desperate need of a long bath.

The water felt heavenly against her skin. She soaked for a long time, resting her head against the back of the large tub and letting her legs float for a bit. In hindsight, she shouldn't have pushed herself, but after cleaning her body, she decided to shave, needing to get rid of the itchiness on her legs. The bending and twisting proved to be too much activity, and she began to feel dizzy.

Pulling the drain, she rinsed herself off and grabbed the towel nearby. She dried off her arms, torso, and most of her legs, and wound the large towel around her middle, tucking the end so it would stay. As she stepped out of the tub, the wooziness grew worse. She shouldn't have made the bath so hot or stayed so long, and the now familiar buzzing grew louder in her ears.

If she didn't hurry up, she was going to pass out in the tub. She tried to move too quickly, and when her second foot hit the wet tile, she slipped. With a yelp, she fell backwards onto her behind, hitting the back of her head on the lip of the tub.

For a second, her vision grayed.

Seconds later, the door sprang open. Erik stood there, panting, his face wild. He was dressed but his shirt was only half buttoned. He wore no mask or wig.

His sudden intrusion startled her, and she shrieked again. She immediately wanted to take it back at the way his posture changed, one of his hands coming up to clutch at his twisted cheek. But his concern for her overrode any instinct to flee because he quickly knelt at her side.

"What happened?"

"I almost fainted," she said. "I hit my head."

"Where?"

She bent forward and let him replace her fingers with his own. He felt around the curve of her scalp, pressed against a lump that was forming there, and she winced. She tried to tug down the towel that had hiked up around her thighs with no success.

"I'll be okay," she assured him. "I'm okay."

His jaw bulged under the force of his clenched teeth. "I should have been here."

"I said I'm okay, Erik."

"No, I should _have been here_!"

"Erik-" She raised up to touch his twisted flesh, but he jerked out of her reach.

Without looking at her, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She kept a grip on the towel, but more out of habit than any kind of fear. Instead of setting her onto the mattress like she expected, he sat down with her across his lap and hid his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder. His breath was harsh and hot against her skin, his grip tight around her. She managed to free one arm and petted his bare scalp, thrilled to be able to feel his own soft hair again, if even under such circumstances.

He didn't speak again, and she didn't press him. This seemed to involve more than just her fall in the bathroom, and she hoped he would open up to her when he was ready. Despite her vulnerable position of being in only a towel on his lap, he made no move to touch her beyond hugging her tightly, not even kissing her.

He felt distant for the rest of the day. While he went through the motions of trying to entertain her like yesterday, his mind seemed far away. When it was time for bed, he didn't join her immediately, instead saying he needed to speak with Nadir for a while. He must have used a phone in the downstairs bedroom because she didn't hear him speaking.

She laid in the darkness by herself for a long time before she fell into a restless sleep. Hours later, the bed dipped as he finally joined her. She didn't remark on his absence. Although he did remove his mask and wore his pajamas, he made no move to touch her at first.

She couldn't stand the distance between them, the bed far too large, and found him in the darkness. He was lying on his back, his body unyielding. She snaked a hand across the dip of his stomach and tucked herself against him.

"Hold me, please," she whispered to the dark.

And he did, silky arms coming around her. She sighed and began to relax back into sleep. For now, this was enough.

* * *

 **Warning (or a promise?): the next chapter ventures into M territory. I did warn of this at the very beginning of the fic, so I hope you are expecting it. :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**You all thrill me with your anticipation. I hope this measures up to your expectations!**

 **This chapter is most definitely rated M. I will likely have to raise the rating for the entire fic from here on out. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

She slept better that night, maybe a sign that her seasickness was finally beginning to end. She hadn't thrown up at all yesterday, and her stomach rumbled in its quest for food before she even rolled out of bed.

Erik was already gone, and by the feel of the cold sheets, he had gotten up a while ago.

She took a quick shower, careful to go slowly when getting in and out, and went downstairs with her hair still damp. She felt a bit more back to normal now, dressed in regular clothes and hunting for some breakfast. The cart was still here. She grabbed a piece of toast and a little egg, feeling like she should try to get some protein in her. The pot of coffee was calling her name, and even though she shouldn't push herself, she just had to have a cup.

She sat at the dining table and began to eat. Soon, Erik stepped out of the guest bedroom, in the middle of tying his cravat, looking like he had only gotten dressed too.

He halted in mid-stride when he saw her at the table, his quick eyes taking everything in. "You did not wait for me."

She put down the toast that was hallways to her mouth. "Wait for you?"

He came closer, seemed to _sniff the air_ , and stopped again. "You bathed."

"I did." She took a big bite, loving the strawberry jam.

"Without me." He came next to the table, and he really did look offended.

She glanced at him without concern. "Since when do I bathe _with_ you?"

His fist came down on the wooden surface in a loud clang of china that made her jump. Her coffee sloshed, sending the hot liquid careening toward her across the table. She scooted back before it had a change to hit her lap. When she glared up at him, she saw that even he was startled by his own outburst.

"Look, Erik, I don't know why you're so mad at me, but I didn't do anything, okay? I feel fine – I _am_ fine _._ My head is only a little sore today, and I'm not feeling nauseous at all. In fact, I'm feeling so great that I want to go out."

He recovered quickly, a hand slicing through the air. "Out of the question."

"I didn't ask for permission," she said coolly. "I was politely letting you know." She took up her plate, her appetite gone. She could grab a bigger lunch out anyway.

As she stepped away from the table, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm and held firm. "You could barely stand on your own yesterday. How can you possibly-"

She scowled at his long fingers. "I said I'm going. Now let go of me."

"Christine-"

"Let go of me, Erik!"

He did but like he had been burned, stumbling back a pace. She hadn't meant to shout at him, but what was done was done, and there was no way she was apologizing when he was being so unreasonable. He put his back to her, his body a towering line of tension. She raised a hand to place on him but thought better of it. Maybe they both needed a few hours apart to cool off.

"I have to get out of this cabin," she said more calmly. "I've been cooped up for too long, lying around too much. I just want to wander around for a while before I go crazy, okay?"

"Have Nadir escort you."

She scoffed, and he swung around, eyes blazing.

"Do not push me on this, Christine!"

"Fine!" Stalking over to the front door, she grabbed her purse and shoved her feet into her sandals. " _You_ may call him and tell him why I'm on my way over. I'll be back for dinner!" She whirled on her heel and all but bolted out the door.

The walk to Nadir's stateroom was longer than she remembered, and by the end of it she was falling apart, emotionally and physically. It was the most activity she'd had since falling ill, and her legs felt like jelly when she stopped to knock on his door. Maybe Erik had been right that she was pushing herself too hard by getting up and about today. But she refused to think about that right now. There was no way she was going back until much later no matter what.

It was still pretty early, and she had no idea if Nadir would even be in the room, so she was relieved when he opened the door. He looked like he was expecting her, and she guessed he had spoken on the phone with Erik. At the sight of his combed wet hair, fresh from a shower, and the concerned but kind smile on his face, she broke apart from both guilt and relief.

He ushered her inside and helped her sit on the very small couch in his room. A cup of cold water was pushed into her hands, and she gratefully took a few sips.

"What happened?" he asked.

She shouldn't be here, in Nadir's room, after fighting with his long-time companion. Never would she want to drive any sort of wedge between the two men. Erik deserved every bit of friendship that Nadir offered even if he acted like he didn't want it, and Christine couldn't imagine saying something that might sour his perception of the masked man. However, Nadir knew Erik better than anyone.

He _was_ the one who had made it possible for her to be here, after all.

"I'm a horrible person!" she said, and quickly took another drink of water to swallow down the wail that started up.

"Now, now, we both know that's not true."

"It _is_ , though. He's done nothing but take care of me these past few days, asking for nothing in return. But I pushed myself too hard, and I fell and got hurt, and he got so mad at me for it that I just blew up at him – I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran here."

Nadir passed her a box of tissue, and she took several. "Back up a bit," he said, frowning. "You fell?"

She nodded. "In the bathroom. I hit my head."

"And he was furious, I take it."

"Yes, mad at me, like I said."

"Ah." Nadir leaned back and ran a hand over his face, scratching at his beard a moment. "He is most definitely not mad at _you_."

She blinked at him through her tears. "What?"

"Think about it, Christine." He patted her knee, then abruptly stood with a sudden burst of energy and headed for the door, opening it and indicating she should follow. "I wanted to go to a lecture by this oceanographer on the global perspectives of environmentalism before lunch. Let's go."

Stunned, she could only follow.

How could he say Erik wasn't mad at her? After she had gotten hurt, he had done nothing but avoid her and snap at her, if he spoke to her at all. She knew she had strained herself during that first bath, and she had pushed him into leaving her alone for a while, thinking he could take care of himself instead. It was her own stupidity that had resulted in the fading knot on her head – not anything he had done.

The lecture distracted her for a while, interesting enough to let her zone out and watch some incredible videos taken of the ocean floor. Nadir had a lunch reservation at a pan-Asian restaurant that turned out to be exactly what she needed. She was able to order a rather plain stir-fry that filled her up for the first time since the storm had hit. The food gave her the energy she needed to explore one of the outside decks with Nadir. Thank God the sun was starting to peak out of the clouds again, warming her upturned cheeks. She wasn't sure she could take another overcast day.

She was actually pretty happy to wander around outside for a long time, and Nadir didn't seem to mind. While sipping hot beverages, they laughed at the passengers who braved the outdoor pool in this chilly weather. When she was shivering too much, they went back inside and found a casino. Christine didn't want to spend much of the money Erik had given her on something so frivolous, but she enjoyed playing a few card games and watching Nadir win two hundred bucks at Blackjack.

Soon, the sun was beginning to close in on the horizon, and other travelers were starting to filter their way to the first dinner service.

She hadn't done anything but sit in a chair by the window and watch the sky darken for the past half an hour. She could feel Nadir's steady gaze on her.

"You can't hide out here forever," he finally said, breaking the silence.

"I could try." The joke fell flat. She puffed an annoyed sigh. "I love him. You know that. _He_ knows that. So why is this so hard?"

"Did I tell you how I met my wife Rookheeya?"

She shook her head. "Only that she died giving birth to Reza."

"Well, before that we enjoyed five very happy years together, two of which were spent married." Nadir leaned back and steepled his fingers, smiling at the memories. "I met her at a dinner before I became daroga, when I was only another office in the Shah's police task force. I knew at once that this was a woman I could love. She had large green eyes, and when she smiled, her whole face lit up like a light bulb. I had to talk to her, and she was so quick-witted, my head and heart were both spinning before I knew what had happened."

He sat up, took a sip of his tea, and relaxed again. "But alas, she wouldn't have me! Even though I had her father's blessing, she wouldn't marry me until she had finished her education. That was very important to her, you see, but not something encouraged among the women in my country, especially at that time. It took her three years to earn her degree, and I married her the month after."

He laughed. "I was an impatient man back then, but I learned much of patience from her. I knew she was worth the wait, no matter how long that waiting took." His eyes grew soft. "She would have made a fantastic mother."

Her heart broke for him. "She sounds like it."

"Anyway, the point is this: I wanted her, and she wanted me. Eventually, we made it work. I won't say the journey was all easy – the three years waiting for her hand or the two years of our marriage before she died. But I never regretted any of it, not even the way our life together ended. I would go through all of that again just to be able to spend those years with her."

Christine sucked in a shaky breath and wiped away fresh tears. "Thank you for telling me, Nadir."

"So you see. You and Erik complete each other. Of that I am certain."

"I'm… ready to go back now."

He didn't have to say anything else – he'd already said enough. Once they reached the door to the stateroom she shared with Erik, they exchanged hugs and plans for dinner among the three of them tomorrow. She watched the Iranian leave, then used her keycard to enter the cabin.

In her absence, Erik had drawn the curtains over the two-story windows, casting the main living area into dim light. She knew immediately where he was, seated at the piano and pounding away at the keys. The song was a tremulous one, fraught with the same stress from that morning.

She came to stand near him, and said loudly over his playing, "Aren't you afraid someone might hear?" Truth be told, she hadn't been able to hear him from the hallway, but he was the one who had brought up the lack of privacy here, after all.

He ignored her, sliding into another melody just as disturbing and traumatic in its intensity.

She sighed and went upstairs to change. Her body ached from so much activity today, even though she thought she had taken it easy. The hot tub on the balcony was calling her name, and from what she had seen, the sunset tonight would be beautiful. Despite her talk with Nadir, she wasn't ready to address anything that had happened between her and Erik yet.

She found her bikini, the only swimsuit she had that covered the most on top while still adding a little padding. She put up her hair in a thick bun, wrapped a towel around herself, and headed back down the stairs where Erik hadn't moved from his position at the piano.

"I'm going outside on the balcony," she told him. "To use the hot tub."

For the first time, he paused, though he didn't shift in any way to acknowledge her. "Do you require assistance?"

"No."

His fingers began to fan back over the ivories, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything else.

She pulled the curtain away from one of the doors while leaving the other closed so Erik could keep his own solitude. Checking to make sure he was still in the same location, she quickly draped her towel over a nearby lounge chair and sank into the hot water. Once she turned on the bubbling jets, she relaxed against the side, facing the deepening sunset.

Should she apologize? Would that do anything to help them return to the peaceful moments they'd had before she had gotten sick? He had done such a wonderful job taking care of her, and it had all fallen apart when she had gotten hurt. They both could be so _stubborn_.

The jets against her back and legs loosened the muscles there. Despite the drama she knew was waiting for her back inside, she felt her body soak in the much-needed recreation. She wished that Erik would join her, but she shook away the disturbing image of Erik in a bathing suit; she had worked hard enough just to get him to don a pair of pajamas.

Maybe _she_ was the one pushing too hard. Hadn't their relationship been that way? Whenever Erik pushed, she snapped at him in anger. Whenever she pushed, he tended to freak out and run away.

But he hadn't, with the pajamas, with joining her in bed. He was _trying_.

She had spent enough time in this hot tub. She got out, dried off and wrapped the towel around her, and headed back inside.

Erik was still at the piano, his hands flying.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said. She might as well have been talking to an empty room.

Needing to cool off in more ways than one, she ran the tap lukewarm and quickly rinsed the chlorine from her body. She was tired from the busy day, and she wondered what Erik would do if she went ahead and went to bed without him.

Instead of changing into her usual pajamas, she slipped into her robe once again, wearing nothing underneath. It felt rather freeing to do such a thing, but she was still hot and didn't feel like putting on any restrictive clothing just yet, and most definitely not her heavy bra.

She went back downstairs, careful to take small steps so her robe didn't gap open. Maybe she would just grab a glass of water and tell him she was going to bed.

He did glance at her, no doubt catching her in his peripheral vision. "Dinner arrived," he said without missing a beat in the song he spun. The man was going to play until his fingertips bled, wasn't he?

"I'm not hungry," she said. "Are you?"

"No."

"Then there you have it." She stood at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at him as he played. He really was beautiful, though he would likely never believe her. He worked hard to paint an immaculate vision of himself: the wig carefully combed, his mask polished white and glowing in the sunset's colors, his suit ironed and always so formal.

She came around the side of the piano until she was behind him. When she lifted her hands and placed them to either side of his shoulders, he jumped, missing a note. She hated the reaction, thought maybe she _should_ just go upstairs and leave him alone. However, she kept her hands still until he caught the rhymth back, but she wanted more than merely this light touch. His back was tight as he played.

Splaying her fingers, she gave a gentle squeeze, and encouraged by the fact that he was at least back to ignoring her rather than flinching away, she let her thumbs press against the muscles on either side of his spine just below his neck. That place was always the first of hers to hurt when she was tense, and it seemed a good place to start.

"What are you doing, Christine?" His voice was velvet smooth. Oh, he had that under control, did he?

"Giving you a massage." She tugged on his jacket. "This is too thick." Without waiting for a reply, she slid her hands around to the front of his neck, hooked her fingers into the collar of his suit coat, and began to pull it off his shoulders. To her surprise, he didn't stop her, even pausing his song long enough to shrug the heavy linen off the rest of the way.

She set the coat on the piano bench and went back to that spot, now able to more easily feel the muscles of his back. Tucking between his vest and shirt, her thumbs found the wide bumps of what could only scars, but she pushed them from her mind. She massaged that line of muscle for a while, kneading with thumbs and the heels of her hands.

She was about to start in on his neck or lower on his back when he swung around on the bench to face her.

"Erik-" she began, her speech ready in her head, but his arms were wrapping around her in a fierce embrace. He tugged her close, long legs to either side of her, and like this, they were of a height, so much so that he could bury his face in the curls of her hair at her neck.

The collar of her robe came up around her neck, so she heard rather than felt his shuddering breath. "I thought you might never recover," he said, the silkiness in his voice replaced with a different, rawer emotion.

"I would have eventually," she said softly, holding still in his strong clutch. "Even if I had to wait until I got off this boat. But thank you so much for taking care of me. You're always doing that – taking care of me."

"I didn't well enough. Despite my best intentions, you were still harmed."

"It was an accident, Erik. And really – it was my fault. I should have asked for help."

His hands flexed. "I should have been there."

"Nonsense," she huffed. "I would've kicked you out anyway. Please don't blame yourself. You have been so amazing to me. You're a _good man_ , Erik."

She wasn't prepared for him to chuckle in her ear, his arms tightening almost to the point of pain. "Oh yes, sometimes I am well able to play the caregiver, and taking care of you is something I always want."

He paused for a long time, and she felt nervousness flutter within her belly.

"However," he continued, his voice taking on a new roughness, "if you but knew the thoughts within my mind at this moment…" He shifted his head, his lips finding an open spot of skin below her ear. "Sometimes, I merely _want_."

She was now sharply aware of the fact that she wore nothing under this robe.

"Erik…" she began, but before he would let her figure out how to end that beginning, he swept her into his arms.

Christine feebly tried to keep herself covered as he settled them onto the couch, but she needn't have worried. He gathered her robe around her, ensuring the ends overlapped to her knees, and then she was back in his arms, sitting sideways across his lap. It was a position he seemed to prefer, and she did too because it made it oh so easy for her to kiss him.

As soon as she leaned in, he closed the rest of the distance. Although years hadn't passed since their last meeting of lips, she ached as though she hadn't kissed him in so long. Their lips slanted across each other, and their tongues began their slip-slide dance that left longing pooling deep inside her. One of his hands fisted in her hair, holding her close, avoiding the sore spot at the base of her scalp. The other hand found one of her exposed calves and stroked the smooth skin on the back of her knee.

She whimpered into his mouth, the sound startling her enough to surface for air. When she broke away, he pressed kisses along her shoulder, on top of her robe. His eyes seemed like two flames, and she couldn't quite meet them.

"Please don't misunderstand," Erik murmured. "We do not have to go further than this, my dearest. I could live a lifetime on your kisses alone."

She let him demonstrate by capturing her mouth once again, and then she pulled back and said with all of her courage, "I'd let you have more."

His breath hitched, and the hand on her knee convulsed in reaction, long fingers dragging up her thigh for a brief second before settling there. "If- if I could but touch you, only touch. My hands ache for the feel of you, my Christine."

"Yes," she whispered so quietly she could barely hear the word leave her tongue.

His fingers slid further down, the cool touch scorching her skin. The hand in her hair flexed, forgotten. He pressed his face to her shoulder instead of kissing her again, so intent was he on his path. His fingers shifted to the line where her thighs touched, centering between her legs. If he twisted them _just so_ , they would…

"Bid me to stop," he begged.

She shuddered. "Never."

And she felt the first sensual touch of his skin on her skin, on her most hidden place that no one except herself had ever touched before. One finger pressed against her, and then another, and the sensation was so enormous, the moment so profound, that she twisted to throw one arm around his back and grip the blade of one of his shoulders like she would drown if she didn't hold on.

"Oh my Christine, my lovely Christine. So soft." Those fingers shifted, exploring, and she was ready for it, the path slick. He was careful, gentle, mapping the most secret part of her body as though committing her to memory, finding which caresses made her gasp and curl her toes.

She couldn't stand the intimacy, and she had to tuck her heating cheeks against the silkiness of his vest. She felt the first sensation of having another's fingers parting her, and then he was sliding inside, just one finger, and _oh god_ she burned from the heat of it. He flexed, went deeper, then deeper, and out again, and only that one long finger felt her from within again and again, but it was enough to send a moan rising within her throat, the sound foreign and mystical to her ears.

"Erik!"

His strokes grew bolder, and his fingers danced as surely as they had ever danced across her back, pulling pleasure from her as deftly as he could pull brilliance from a violin's strings. She writhed in his arms, and his other hand kept her close, his breathing harsh. She felt a deepening between her legs, his thumb keeping a steady, circular pressure on that point on which her existence focused. She panted his name again, and he did not relent, even when she sobbed and dug her heels into the couch.

She was tense, pulled tight like the strings on his violin, his instrument to play, and finally, she felt something boiling within her break open, and a dark surge of primal pleasure overtook her every sense. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder blade, and she keened, her shyness forgotten for that brief moment. Her core pulsed around his finger as she rode out the sensation, and his movements gradually stilled as she slumped against his body. Only after her heartbeat began to slow did he leisurely pull his finger from her, leaving behind tingles that made her squeeze her thighs together.

She looked up enough to see him bring his hand level to his face, his eyes wide with wonderment. Her scent was thick in the air, and her face burned, but she couldn't look away as his pink tongue lashed out and licked one of his fingers.

She squeaked and hid her face again in time to feel the chuckle that rumbled up from his chest.

"Dearest Christine, lovely Christine, you astound me."

"I'm the one astounded, dear sir," she retorted, muffled, and more quiet laughter resounded in her ear.

From her position on his lap, it was obvious that he was not unaffected by what he had done to her. She shifted a little, experimentally, not necessarily to further anything more between them, but too tempted all the same not to see if she could feel more of him. His hands flew to her waist, stilling her. She tried to formulate her thoughts, that she was wondering if she should reciprocate in some way, but he was already kissing her softly and murmuring into her lips.

"Let me have this memory tonight, my dear, of you, just like this."

She kissed her agreement, a mixture of disappointment and relief. She still wasn't sure how far she was ready to go with him, but if he made any moves to seduce her further, she seriously doubted she would be able to deter herself.

She worried the atmosphere would be awkward after they both parted ways to change for bed, but she shouldn't have been. Although he didn't remove his mask until the lights were off, he pulled her to him beneath the sheets without hesitation. He kissed her in the dark, slow and unhurried, and she thought for the first time the surety of the word _forever_.


	23. Chapter 23

**I have started work, which means shorter chapters. I hope to continue to update every few days, however!**

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

"You can't be serious!" Christine cried. "Erik, please let this be a joke!"

Christine looked at each of the two men, her eyes wide with disbelief. The three of them were seated at the dining table, halfway through the evening meal. Nadir avoided making eye contact while Erik calmly sipped his wine.

Christine leapt to her feet, throwing her napkin onto the table. "Nadir, tell him he is insane. He can't do this!"

"Unfortunately, he's right," Nadir said, slowly, as though choosing his words carefully. "Erik must get back into the shipping crate tonight if he wants to have any hope of doing so without being seen."

"But why _tonight_? We still have all day tomorrow and tomorrow night before we reach England!"

"Because of the way they collect everyone's luggage at the end of the trip. If you want the crew to carry your bags off the ship for you, you must leave it out by midnight of the last night, which is tomorrow. This means that crew members will be more active that night as they collect and sort everyone's belongings. We disembark early the next morning."

She shook her head, so upset over this. "There has to be a better way." She gestured wildly at the silent man sitting beside her. "He'll be in that box for two days!"

"If there was another way, we would have found it." Nadir sighed, and then looked sharply at Erik. "You should have told her before now."

Erik scowled at the rebuke, but he didn't disagree.

Christine felt tears welling up, the lump in her throat making it difficult for her to speak. The two men were gazing up at her as though _she_ was being the unreasonable one, and she couldn't take it anymore. She bolted from the table, going upstairs to her bedroom, the only place she had in this cabin where she could get away. She sat cross-legged on the bed and dug her knuckles into her eyes to stem the flow of tears.

A few moments later, Erik joined her, and the mattress dipped as he sat next to her.

"I should have told you earlier," he acknowledged.

"Yes, you should have."

One of his hands brushed her hair back from her forehead. "The moment never was right, especially while you were so ill. But yes, I should have made the effort."

She huffed and leaned into his touch. "I don't like the thought of you in that horrible crate. Even with plenty of water, that is no way for anyone to travel!"

"While I understand your concern, my dear, I have traveled in far worse conditions before, if you recall. At least for the majority of this voyage, I was able to enjoy your company. I assure you, a few days spent in a box are well worth the _time_ we have spent together." His voice turned wry, and she knew exactly to what he was referring.

They hadn't spoken directly about what had happened yesterday. Like usual, he had risen before her, but he had slid back into bed soon after she woke, taking her into his arms as she blinked away her lingering drowsiness. They kissed, letting their arms roam across each other's backs. She had plucked at his cravat, wishing he didn't always get dressed so early. She had been entertaining the thought of him since she had gotten up, and she was already growing warm.

But before she could try to initiate anything more, he had left the room so she could get dressed, saying her breakfast was downstairs when she was ready.

If she'd known he was going to be leaving so soon, she wouldn't have left today to explore more of the ship. Maybe he hadn't wanted to worry her any longer than he had to, but still, he should have told her so she could have been better prepared. She had spent little time with him today, thinking they still had all of tomorrow.

Instead, they barely had any of the night.

She scooted closer to him on the bed, rose up on her knees, and put her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to the exposed side of his face.

"Did Nadir leave?"

"He did. With the promise of his time tomorrow, if you wish."

She sighed heavily, not at the thought of spending time with Nadir but at the realization that she wouldn't have Erik. She squeezed him in a tight hug. "What time do you have to go?"

"Around two in the middle of the night should be safest. Nadir will follow to make sure the crate is tightly secured."

"I'll stay up with you."

"Christine, there is no reason-"

"There is plenty of reason!" she said fiercely, trying not to cry at the thought of him shut up inside darkness for days. "I can nap all I want tomorrow, so I'm staying awake until you leave."

He didn't argue further, instead clasping her hands in his and bending his head to kiss her fingers. She enjoyed the sensation of his cold misshapen lips on her, but she wanted more than that. She gently pulled her hands free of his and grasped the edges of his coat to slide it off his shoulders. Shrugging out of it, he tossed it aside and twisted his torso so he could kiss her. Still, she wanted more, guiding him by his cravat to join her sideways across the bed, both of them reclining on their elbows.

She kept her movements slow, giving him ample time to protest with words or stop her with his hands. She marveled at the fact that he let her loosen the black silk at his throat and lift it off his neck, and then continued to ply her with soft kisses as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and pushed it free of his shoulders.

After he slipped the material down his arms, he rejoined her, this time with a surge that took his body atop hers, one of his legs resting between hers. At different points in their relationship, he had used his taller, larger body against her – looming, threatening, holding her still with his strength. Now, she relished the weight of him pressing her down into the soft mattress, the flutter of his heart against hers, the dig of one of his sharp hip bones.

She so desperately wanted to feel him around her, to commit him to memory before they were parted. Maybe she was being a touch dramatic, but she remembered the horrible shape he had been after his first trek across the ocean to get to her. While he had spent the entirety of a week inside a shipping crate, at least he'd had much more room to move about. Now, as she understood it, he would be lying down with his legs somewhat tucked up, a comfortable enough position except he would be that way for two days.

So yes, she was upset at what he had to go through. She didn't care if she understood why, if she knew that it was the only way to keep all of them safe. Her Erik shouldn't have to endure anymore suffering.

Tonight, she wanted to feel him, but she wanted to _see_ him too, to rest her eyes on his full face. She wanted to let him leave her with the lingering feel of her lips against the part of him that he so hated.

Her hand curved against the unyielding porcelain of his mask. "Let me see you, love," she whispered, pulling back enough to gauge the reaction in his eyes.

Those twin amber eyes searched her face, and the yearning she saw within him threatened to overwhelm her. His thin lips parted as though he might say something, and for a quick second she caught a flash of fear. She understood. The lights were fully on in the room, and they were entwined in an intimate position. How could she ask such a thing?

But she didn't relent. She needed this. _He_ needed this.

When his eyes slid closed and he bowed to kiss her again, she hooked her fingers around his mask and gently pried it from his face. When she then ghosted her fingertips along his hairline, he flinched, his arms around her tightening, his teeth clashing with hers in a sudden deepening of their embrace. With his assent, she pulled the wig from his head, baring his true appearance to the room.

She had seen him in the darkness of the bedroom every night, though only the one quick glance without the wig, but this seemed different. As she broke her mouth away from his and gently pushed him back an arm's length above her, she drank in the sight of him.

Her man, her love. She had chosen to flee across an ocean with him. She still didn't know exactly where they were headed. She hadn't thought to ask yet because the location didn't much matter to her. What mattered most was staying by his side, her only thought when she had taken that cruise ticket from Nadir. She wanted to stay with Erik, be with him in any way that he would allow her to be.

Rising up on one elbow, she pressed her lips to his ruined cheek and traced his point of despair with her mouth. When he captured her lips with his own, she ran her hands over his bare scalp, smoothing the sparse, soft hair, loving that he was allowing her to do this freely. After they reached their destination, she would make it her mission to turn this into a normal occurrence, to replace his old memories with new ones of them together.

However, when one of her hands drifted to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt, he stopped her. "Please," he panted. "This is enough."

She hid her disappointment by again pressing reassuring kisses to the thin skin across his right cheekbone. She perceived that he wanted her – _had_ wanted her for a long time. Hadn't he told her so in those moments when he had lost control of his tongue? Even now, she could feel the bulge of him against her thigh.

But she nodded, not wanting to push too much on this last night they had together aboard the ship. "Only touch?" she offered.

In response, his hands dipped between her and the mattress, hiking up her shirt in the back. She arched beneath him to give him better access and felt the constricting material give way. Soon, the undergarment joined his clothes on the bed next to them, and his broad hands were spreading across her back, stroking her skin aflame.

This time, she felt one of his hands slide to her belly and start upward, and her stomach muscles bunched in response to the caress. He wanted – he was going to – she couldn't stop him, not after she had exposed him before her.

She so rarely allowed even herself to bother with her chest except to wash in the shower, the skin normally too sensitive and painful. She sucked in a sharp breath, and he paused to press a kiss against her neck.

"Christine…?" he left the question in the air. Oh, the sound of her name on his lips.

"Gently," she whispered.

His hand, cool on her heated skin, laid along the center of her chest, over her breastbone. Her heartbeat drummed against that new touch. And gentle was his first caress along the edge of one of her scars, his fingertips floating along the line until he met her arm. She knew exactly what he was learning about her body – the raised and puckered flesh, the uneven path of the knife, the missing nipple.

His breath tickled her ear. "You're trembling, my dear. Am I causing you pain?"

"N-no." She swallowed thickly. "After my first surgery, the incisions became infected and they had to reopen them. Sometimes they still hurt, but mostly now they are sensitive."

His hand moved to the other side, repeating the process of tracing the scar under her shirt. She was surprised that his touch, however light, didn't cause at least a little ache, but when she shuddered under his attentions, it wasn't from any pain. Her chest had been a source of torment for her for years, but she saw the possibilities in a new light.

She lay still as he explored, and when he murmured into her mouth, she loved him all the more.

"Always so soft, Christine, even here."

She couldn't help the whimper that fled her throat. How could this touch send want coursing through her? But it did, the acceptance of all of her by him. Even if he hadn't seen her, his touch was enough for now. Almost of their own accord, her hips shifted and rolled, bringing her closer to him, seeking something more.

He broke away with a gasp as she brushed against him. His hand left her shirt to grasp her hip, but whether that was to immobile her movement or bring her closer, he couldn't seem to decide. She wanted _something_ , more friction, anything more. Their mouths crashed back together, and she delighted in being able to feel the full breadth of his lips without the mask, to push herself against him without the scrap of porcelain. Just him and her and skin unencumbered.

Then his hand was between her legs, fingers curling to press the apex of her jeans, and he swallowed her moan. Desperate for more of him, for that contact that had consumed her thoughts since last night, she snaked her own touch down his quivering belly until she felt the rigid weight of him in her palm.

In a flash, he was off the bed and crashing through the curtain in his haste to get away. His own natural grace saved him from sprawling in the floor. He stumbled upright, his shirt askew, his bare face staring at her with undisguised desire.

She sat up, her hurt evident, and she waited for him to either flee or explain himself.

Once he had drawn some composure, he panted, "Not yet, not yet. I cannot yet!"

 _Why?_ was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit the word before it could come out. He was obviously in distress. As they measured each other, the throbbing between her legs eased, and she felt her blood beginning to slow. She had been so close to giving him all of herself.

"Okay," she said, straightening her shirt. "Okay."

He didn't come closer, but he stopped looking like he was about to bolt. "Forgive me, dearest."

"Nothing to forgive," she replied, and she meant it. She had never even _wanted_ to go further than kisses with anyone. If he needed to get beyond this journey across the ocean before he was willing to give into what he so obviously wanted from her, then she could be patient for as long as he needed.

He shifted his feet, one of his hands coming up to smooth the sparse tuffs of hair on his head. He seemed to become all at once highly aware of his lack of wig and mask, and she refused to glance at her bra lying on the bed beside her. They were both exposed, both at a crossroads between each other where they had to accept before going forward.

The day after tomorrow, they would both disembark and start the next phase of their flight across the world together.

Together.

She opened her arms, smiling at him. None of this matter as long as they were _together_. He came to her, once more pressing her to the bed. This time, their hands didn't stray but they took each other in with lips and tongue.

Sometime later, she became aware of his hand on her shoulder as he gently prodded her awake. She was fully alert and on her feet in seconds.

"I'm so sorry for falling asleep!" she cried, genuinely upset with herself.

But he only gave her a slight up tilt of lips. He had fully dressed, including hat, cloak, and gloves. His suitcase was packed and sitting in the living room for Nadir to pick up later.

She refused to let go of him until Nadir knocked softly on the door, looking sharper and less bleary-eyed than she expected. They had to be on their best guard in order to sneak Erik back into the bowels of the ship. Nadir carried several large bottles of water, which didn't help ease her heart.

She told herself she wouldn't cry, but of course she did. Not caring that Nadir watched over them, she flung herself at Erik, and they shared a final moment between them. Whispers of her love passed from her lips to his.

And then Nadir was leading him swiftly away, both of them silent shapes in the hallway, making sure they weren't caught, and Erik was gone, and she couldn't bear to watch him after his cloak darted out the door, flapping like a thing alive.

Her sobs continued for a long time after her cabin grew silent.


	24. Chapter 24

**This chapter is rated a hard M for some very strong reasons. We will all need chocolate after this.**

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

Late the next morning, Nadir came to her door to have breakfast and discuss plans for disembarking the next day. If he noticed her red eyes and puffy face, he tactfully made no mention of how terrible she looked. They both sipped on hot beverages and ate in silence, until Nadir cleared his throat.

"Erik made it safely, and he is comfortable enough. Think of his crate like a rather cramped bed."

She shuddered at the thought. "I'm glad he's safe, at least. What should I expect tomorrow?"

He outlined the steps they both would take. They needed to carry their own luggage off the ship, so neither of them would set out their bags tonight. This would allow them to disembark as early as possible around 8 o'clock in the morning. They would meet up at the taxi gate and take a cab together to a hotel on the outskirts of the city. Christine would be dropped off at the hotel while Nadir went to rent a van and get Erik through customs, a tricky process that Nadir said would likely cost him a large sum of cash.

After fetching his precious antique, Nadir would drive the van back to the hotel, let Erik out in the van, and sneak him up to the hotel room. After Erik had showered and changed, they would all start the drive to the safe house.

"And where _is_ this safe house?" Christine asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Switzerland," Nadir replied, smiling a bit. "A tiny town called Saint-Ursanne, near the French border. No one ever goes there, not even tourists, which has made it the perfect spot for us. I haven't been there in years except for day trips to check on the property's renovation, so I do look forward to seeing the manor again."

Christine tried to imagine such a place, nestled between the mountains of Switzerland. She knew nothing of the country, only that they spoke many languages there and with all the mountains, it was likely to be chilly at night.

She picked at her breakfast, not feeling much like food. Nadir, to his credit, tried cheering her up, but ultimately, he left her alone. She wasn't good company anyway, and she was happy to let him off the hook while he still could be. Thoughts of Erik filled her mind, and she passed the rest of the day the best she could around the stateroom – plucking at the piano, watching the news, and reading. The sight of a bookmark tucked into the last book Erik had been reading brought her to tears once again.

That night, she tossed around in bed. She had grown used to Erik's weight next to her, and more than once she woke to find herself groping his side of his bed for him.

How was he doing down at the bottom of the ship? He had now been there a full day, encased in darkness, able to hear only the pings and groans of the ship's hull. She felt sick at the thought.

Once a reasonable hour arrived, she got up and watched dawn break over the horizon from the balcony. The day of disembarking had finally arrived.

Christine felt a thrill run through her as she gazed at land for the first time in almost a week. The next few hours passed far too slowly as the massive movement of twenty-five hundred passengers off the ocean liner began. Her legs felt weirdly shaky after she stepped onto dry land, wheeling her suitcase behind her.

She made her way through hundreds of people and found the taxi gate Nadir had spoken of. Due to his cabin's location, he knew he would be arriving sometime after her, so she sat on her bag to wait for him. Almost an hour later, he waved at her from across the sea of people.

They flagged down a cab and drove until Nadir found a hotel he thought was suitable enough. He paid for two rooms, just in case they needed them, and checked Christine into one. At first, she insisted on going with him when he went to pick up Erik, but Nadir refused, saying for everyone's peace of mind, she should stay here. Underneath, she did understand that he needed her out of the way, but she also wondered if it was for Erik's dignity. She hated to imagine the shape he would be in when Erik opened the crate.

She gave the Iranian a hug. It was past lunch time by this point, so she ordered some food and ate while watching some British show, enjoying a bit of TV after a week without. For a brief second, she eyed the phone and considered what would happen if she picked it up and called her mother. The idea was quickly squashed.

Lunch passed into the afternoon, and then afternoon melded into early evening. She was beyond restless in the hotel room, and she had begun pacing. Nadir had left no way of contacting him. What if something had gone wrong with customs? What if they were both in a British holding cell somewhere – or worse, found out by the very people they wanted to avoid? She chewed on a fingernail and tugged on her messy hair and tried desperately not to think the worse.

A fist pounding upon the door made her jump. She raced to peer into the peephole and threw open the door when she saw Nadir.

"Thank God, there you are!" she said with relief.

He rushed passed her into the room and grabbed Erik's suitcase, dragging the bag toward the door. "I need this." His darker skin was pale, and she read the distressed expression on his bearded face.

"Nadir, what happened? Why did you take so long?" She grabbed his arm. "Where is Erik?"

"He's fine, mostly."

" _Mostly?_ "

"Whoever removed his crate from the ship didn't pay attention to my many, many signs. They stood the crate upright!" Nadir shoved thick fingers through his salt and pepper hair. "The idiots left him standing for Allah knows how long. I have to go."

" _Where is he_?" Her voice was shrill.

"In the other room. I'll bring you over when I can. Just… give me some time first." He paused long enough to rest a shaky hand on her shoulder. "The important thing is that we made it, right? The worst danger is now over." He hurried out of the room, and she watched him disappear through another door down the hall.

Oh my God, Erik had been standing in his box all day? In a crate that wasn't nearly tall enough for him to stretch to his full height? Christine felt like she was going to be sick. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get her breathing under control. If she thought too much about what he had just gone through, she might truly lose it. She needed to be strong for him, a calm presence when she saw him.

The next hour took an age, but when Nadir knocked on the door again, it was with less panic. In fact, he seemed a bit angry.

"You can go to him now, if you want. He won't let me near him, so maybe you will have better luck. I do warn you that he doesn't believe me when I say you're still here."

"What? Why not?"

His shoulders slumped with weariness. He sat heavily upon the bed and began to pull off his shoes. "You will have to ask him that. I'm too tired to pry his mind. We'll stay the night here and leave early in the morning. Try to rest – we have a long drive ahead of us."

"Okay, thanks," she told him.

His tired voice stopped her at the door. "This room is open to you if you need it. There is no reason for you to stay there. Eventually, he would understand."

She thanked him again and headed down the hall. Why would she need to be able to escape into a different room? Her place was at Erik's side. No matter what kind of shape he was in now, that wouldn't change.

Using the keycard Nadir gave her, she pushed the door open to the other hotel room. Like her room, it opened to a little hall and then the bedroom with a double bed and not much else. The bedroom was dark, the curtains drawn, but light peered out from underneath the door leading to the bathroom to her left.

She knocked on the bathroom door. "Erik? It's Christine. Can I come in?"

No answer followed. Jiggling the door handle, she found it unlocked, so she cracked it open. She could see Erik's angular white feet, his black-encased legs stretched across the tiled floor. She opened the door further to peer inside.

Erik leaned against the side of the tub. He wore what appeared to be a clean pair of pants and an unbuttoned shirt. The scars on his torso cast strange patterns across his skin in the harsh light. A towel was draped over his bowed head, throwing his unmasked face into shadow.

He didn't move when she crouched beside him. "Erik," she called softly. "What do you need?"

One long-fingered hand lifted and gestured at his head. Ah, he needed his mask and wig? Her heart broke, and words came to the surface to tell him that he didn't have to wear those around her. But she didn't know what he had gone through over the last two days, and she didn't dare push anything upon him right now.

Instead, she could be what he needed most: someone to put him back together.

"I'll be right back," she told him and headed into the bedroom. On the dresser, she saw a discarded wig and mask – the ones he had worn, she guessed. On the floor, she found his opened suitcase and retrieved the two articles she sought, noticing he had at least one other spare as well.

She toed off her sandals, and then hurried back into the bathroom and knelt at his side. "I'm here. May I help?" She began to reach for the towel on his head, but one of his hands snapped forward and encased her wrist in a steely grip.

He lifted his head and glowing amber eyes glared at her from beneath the towel. She tried to tug free but he held firm, his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"You're hurting me, Erik."

"They put me into a box." His words came out as a hiss.

Christine thought he meant Nadir, but he had said _they,_ not _he_. She tried to relax into his painful grip instead of pulling back. "Who did?"

"The men who owned the traveling carnival. The put me into a box, and I would lay there waiting until they opened the lid to allow the audience to gawk at me. Then they would close the lid, and I would wait again for the next group." His head tilted, his eyes piercing her. "Sometimes I waited an hour. Sometimes they forgot I was in there until the next morning. Do you know how old I was?"

"No," she whispered.

"Six, and then seven, and then eight."

Oh God, what had been done to him? This was the kind of childhood Erik had lived? Christine wanted to weep for him, but she couldn't fall into her tears now. This man, who had faced his past while alone and suffocating in the dark, needed her.

Her wrist ached. She ignored it. "What happened when you were eight?" she asked, keeping her tone low and easy.

"My hands were finally big enough to wrap around the throats of the men who put me in the box. I strangled two of them before they left me alone." He pulled her closer. "Does this frighten you?"

Do _I_ frighten you, he meant.

"No," she said. "This makes me so, so very sad." She laid her free hand over the fast fluttering of his heart, his skin cool beneath her touch. "I love you."

At once the clench around her wrist eased. "Christine," he said, her name a whine in the back of his throat.

"I'm here, my love. May I help you? Please?"

"Turn off the light."

He didn't let go of her wrist, so she scooted onto her knees and stretched up to reach the light. She knew he could see better than her in the dark, so she wasn't too concerned when she pitched them both into almost complete blackness. His eyes flickered as she settled back.

Now he allowed her to pull the towel from his head, his hand moving from her wrist to her knee as though he needed to stay in physical contact with her. She smoothed back the sprigs of his fine hair still damp from his shower, and then took up the wig.

"Show me?" she asked, and his fingers covered hers, directing her to spread the front of it open and lay it against his forehead. The adhesive on the inside edge caught onto his skin, holding the front in place as she gently pulled the wig across the back of his head, adjusting the edges with his guidance.

The mask slid on without difficulty. Erik took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. Sensing the discharge of tension, she found the bottom edges of his shirt and buttoned him up, leaving the top two undone.

"There you go," she said gently. "Now, can I get you off this cold floor?"

He grunted in response, but he raised his arm when she placed a shoulder under it, allowing her to help him to his feet. The two of them made their way into the bedroom, his pace shuffling and slow, and they sat on the hard mattress.

"Can I get you anything? Water, maybe?"

He didn't answer, his hands coming up to cup her face. "You are here."

"Of course I'm here."

"I thought you would leave. You could have easily left."

She wished she could see him in the blackness of night. She felt a little self conscious that he could see her while he remained a mere dark shape before her. She could make out a little of his white shirt and mask, but that was it. Reaching out, she felt the crispness of his shirt and traveled upward until she found his neck, his jaw. As always, he was free of stubble, and she slid her fingertips to the bottom swell of his lip.

"I told you – I'm not going anywhere. I love you. I'm staying." She would say all of those words a hundred times a day if that is what he needed.

"You are staying," he echoed.

His lips kissed her exploring touch, and then bent and captured her mouth with a surety he shouldn't have had in this darkness. He leaned over her, pressing her into the bed, deepening the kiss with probing tongue and bruising force. She felt his caresses darting over her body, rubbing a lock of her hair between finger and thumb, touching her face, skimming over her ribs, riding up her shirt enough to scorch a path down her belly.

"My Christine."

"Yes," she breathed. "I'm yours, Erik."

Before she realized what he was doing, he had twisted open the button of her jeans and glided his hand further downward with inhuman quickness. She gasped into his mouth at the sudden intrusion, clutching at his shoulders. Not hesitating, his long fingers stroked her with a boldness he hadn't possessed before, pressing into her atop her underwear. Then one finger found the edge of the lacey trim and slid underneath and inside her, his arm elbowing her legs wider to allow him access. A second finger joined the first, a tighter fit, and he breathed a groan as she met him with a wince.

And then he was wrenching his hand free of her and tugging at her jeans with both hands, exposing her upper thighs to the cold air.

"More," she heard him say.

And she gave him more, helping him remove her pants the rest of the way, not sure if she tossed them aside or if he did. She was dimly aware that her underwear had come off along with her jeans, and she was now naked from the waist down. She felt terribly exposed and sought to hide herself, but he was covering her with his own fully clothed body, shoving himself between her legs as he sought her mouth again.

"Erik-" The words were there for her to share with him, the admission she hadn't yet told him. She knew he was as untouched as she was, knew they were having a shared first experience, but she couldn't say the words, couldn't admit what she had never found the right moment to say. If she told him she had never done this before, she knew for certain he would stop.

And she didn't want him to stop, didn't want him to hold back. She had wanted him days ago – she had wanted him _weeks_ ago, the first time he had held her ankle in his hands and fiery energy had coursed between them. She had wanted him then, wanted him even more when he had massaged her swollen ankle and made her dinner, when he had let her take off his mask for the first time, when he had bumped teeth with her in their first kiss and given her the first singing lesson and looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Instead of words, she tried to lay a hand on his exposed cheek, but he grabbed her and pinned her wrist to the mattress just above her head. He brought her other arm up until both were held in one of his tight fists, and the roughness startled her, brought her into sharp focus.

The coarse material of his pants rasped against the tender skin between her thighs. His hips snapped against hers, bringing a long line of hardness against her, and she shivered in delight and a sudden surge of fear.

His free hand traveled down her body to the outside of her thigh, fingers spreading across that expanse of her skin, blunt nails digging into her as he raised her to meet his hips. He pumped against her, lips burning a path down her throat.

"Ah Christine. My lovely Christine. Let me have you."

"Yes," she whispered to the dark, her body trembling beneath his.

She didn't know how ready she was, but she ached for him, wanted him, and his hand was dipping between them to undo his pants. Her arms still pinned above her head, her fingers starting to tingle, she had nothing to hold onto, no way to push or pull against him. She drew her knees up but he was already between her thighs again, spreading her wide.

The space around them seemed to bleed away. She was aware of his lips on her neck, the scratch of his mask on her cheek, and the thickness of him pressing her open with a steady, quick slide that took her breath away. It was all too fast, too much, and he seemed much too large to be filling her, too much for her to take. This was nothing at all like his fingers – this, a throbbing pressure that split her open, a burning ache that parted her mouth with a cry she had never made before.

Oh, it hurt, and she was burning in more ways than one, and he was already pulling out, dragging flesh on flesh, leaving her empty for a second of an eternity before plunging deep inside again. The rotation continued, the dance of his body atop hers, the undulations that her body somehow knew all on its own rising to meet him.

"Erik, Erik, Erik," his name became a voiceless chant upon her tongue. Her mind echoed his name with _stop_ and _more_ until both became entwined in one thought that wrapped around her mind and threatened to smother her.

She couldn't take anymore. She would die if he stopped. He surged like a tidal wave above her, deep sounds coming from him that she felt between their pressed chests. She might have screamed. And then he abruptly shuddered and pressed deeper, and warmth flooded inside her.

His weight fell upon her, his breathing harsh in her ear. He pried his hand off her wrists, and feeling began to rush back into her numb fingers, and his arms crushed her to him. She settled her hands on his back and held them there. Her thighs ached from being spread so widely open, but she stayed still, unwilling to prod him into any kind of movement.

Eventually, his lips found hers, a gentle caress so different from a moment ago. He kissed her for a long time, and when he did finally rise off her, she felt him slip, softened, easily free. She throbbed. She curled onto her side, hearing him pad to the bathroom. Water turned on and off, and his weight settled onto the bed next to her. There was a tension to him that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"I hurt you," he said in the darkness, voice cracking.

She didn't answer. What could she say? Yes, he had hurt her. He had been too rough, and she had let him. He had gone too fast, and she hadn't told him why he should slow down. She swallowed, tried to wet the inside of her mouth. She was highly aware of the air on her naked skin and just how well he could see in the dark.

"You… were a virgin." How could he push those words out of his mouth? But he did, the last a breaking in the final vestige of his control.

Despite everything, her face still heated. "Yes."

There was a long pause, and then she heard the anguished, "Gods, Christine!"

 _Don't take it back_ , she silently pleaded. _Don't take this moment from me_. She supposed she should feel some sort of loss, but she didn't, only the lingering realization that her old reality had been replaced with a new one.

He shifted and laid a hand on the outside of her thigh. With his silent prodding, she rolled onto her back, and he pressed a damp washcloth between her legs, the warmth seeping into her sore flesh. She sighed and stroked his arm, and listened to the sounds he made in the shadows where she couldn't see his face, the hitching breaths of a man weeping.

She let him cry for the both of them.


	25. Chapter 25

**My apologies for the delay, but work is now taking priority. Don't worry - I'm still writing. :) Expect a chapter a week as we start to head into the last fourth or so of the story.**

 **I loved reading all of your reviews! Hello to new readers! I'm thrilled with the response this fic is getting. You all rock and keep me going.**

 **And now, onward to the aftermath.**

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

The washcloth had grown cold. She really didn't mind the temperature, which felt soothing against her inflamed skin, but she hurt all over, and she was tired, and the bed, which was hard and lumpy, called her name. Erik's quiet sounds of lament had given way to silence, and he was motionless in the near total darkness.

"Erik," she called softly. She gently pushed his hand away, sitting up and folding her arms across her bare lap. "I'm going to shower and get ready for bed."

He didn't answer, and she hadn't expected one. He was reacting the way she thought he might. She wasn't sure if she should touch him or not, so she grabbed her pants off the floor and held them in front of her as she stood.

"Can I borrow one of your shirts? I left my suitcase in the other room." And there was no way she would go knocking on Nadir's door right now.

"Of course," he responded in a throaty whisper, and she saw that as a sign of improvement. At least he was now talking.

Taking one of his white dress shirts with her, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as she thought she could stand it. Walking felt weird, as though she was swollen between her legs, and the red marks on her wrists were definitely going to bruise. Erik had refused to let her touch him while they… had sex, and she did understand why, but she wished he had trusted her to keep her hands to herself if he had asked.

She didn't regret it, not at all, only that the moment might have been tenderer between them. Her heart broke whenever Erik's past came to the surface, and he had been so desperate to drive those moments away, seeking his comfort in her. She wanted to be that for him – the support he needed when he was at his most vulnerable. If they were going to truly be together, she had to be that and more.

Still, she winced as she washed herself, and for a brief second, the water going down the drain turned pink. She checked herself out with prodding fingers and didn't find anything that seemed like lasting damage. First times were _supposed_ to hurt, right? At least a little? Only, she had expected the act to start to feel better after a while. And it hadn't.

Once out of the shower, she slipped on her underwear and buttoned up his shirt. She used the hotel's minimal toiletries to fresh up the best she could. She slid a towel across her shoulders so her hair wouldn't dampen her shirt, and walked out of the room.

From the light of the bathroom, she saw that Erik hadn't moved from his spot on the edge of the bed. He perked up a bit when he saw her. "Your… hair is wet."

"Yeah, they don't have a hair dryer, and I don't have a hair brush. I'm afraid it's a mess."

"Do you require help?"

She stared at him. Was he really offering to help her out with her _hair_? His body posture told her that he might be asking something else, the way he clasped his hands between his knees and sat slumped over. He wasn't necessarily asking to assist her with her hair, but rather asking _is it okay if I touch you again?_

"Sure, you can help," she said and came over to the bed, leaving the bathroom door open for a little light. She sat next to him, facing away so he had access to her hair.

He seemed to take a long time to finally decide to go through with putting his hands on her hair, but he did, a feathery touch that made her shiver. Methodically, he separated the tangled strands with his fingers. She had a tough scalp, but she could tell he was being particularly careful not to pull. When her curly strands began to drip again, he patted them dry with the towel. He continued even after he had likely finished finger-combing her hair, and the steady touch was soothing.

She woke to blankets being pulled up to her chin. The bathroom light was off, but she could see the slight sheen of Erik's white mask in the darkness. "I fell asleep?" she asked, groggy.

"For a little while," he murmured. "The hour grows late. You should go back to sleep."

"So should you." She pushed down the blankets and scooted back a little on the double bed, which wasn't nearly as wide as the giant bed from the stateroom. It was an obvious an invitation as she could make it without speaking.

"Christine, I-"

"Please."

His voice was pained. "How can you possibly invite me into your bed after what I did?"

"I wanted you to do it."

"But not like that!"

"You're right. Maybe not like that."

She watched him flinch at her admission, and while she didn't want to scare him away, she couldn't sugar-coat the reality of what had passed between them. She could at least admit this truth. She had wanted him for a long time, but he had hurt her, and he knew it.

However, she wasn't ready to admit to him what was truly on her mind: that yes, he had frightened her by his strength and willingness to take from her without his usual hesitation, but more than anything, she had frightened _herself_ by how much she had enjoyed the lack of control.

Stretching out a beckoning hand, she said, "Please come to bed, Erik."

She could have added reasons why – she slept better when he was at her side, she didn't want him moping by himself, she needed to be close to him to ease her down from this weirdness she felt about had happened. But it was all too much, and she was sore and tired. If she had to press anymore, she was likely to start crying, and who knew how much that would set them back.

Luckily, she didn't have to plead anymore. His cool fingers folded around hers. "How can I ever be worthy of you?"

She tugged on his hand, and he followed her gentle urging, slipping under the blankets. For the first time, she turned facing away from him in the dark, and his hitch in breath told her that he didn't understand why she did so. She kept a grip on his hand, bringing his arm over and around her body, scooting herself closer within the circle of his arm. Soon, she was tucked against him, his fast breathing brushing the back of her hair.

His arm settled across her ribs, heavy and strong and exactly what she sought after.

"I chose you, didn't I?" she said.

He responded by pulling her more flush against him. He hadn't dressed for bed, and he still wore his mask, but tonight, she didn't care. He was holding her in bed, holding her close, and she was lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

* * *

Nadir called them early the next morning, waking Christine with a jolt. She and Erik were much in the same position from last night, and she had to lean over him to answer the phone. As she moved, her whole body protested. She was sore in more ways than she had anticipated. Even her aching thighs quivered as they held her up for a moment.

She spoke quietly and quickly with Nadir, and then hung up. They had fifteen minutes to get ready with a long day of driving ahead of them.

When she lay back down, Erik was alert and watching her. He looked rumpled in his clothes, and his wig was slightly askew – something he fixed almost immediately. This was such a normal _couple_ thing for them to do, waking up next to each other, even though she wasn't sure if Erik had been asleep.

Before she could wake up enough to grow shy, she laid her head on his chest and basked in another moment of being close to him. His shirt that she wore had worked up around her hips, but at that moment she didn't care. He seemed warmer than usual, whether because of the blankets or because they had slept against each other, she didn't know. Even though she did like his usual cooler temperature, the change was nice first thing in the morning.

"Nadir will be pissed if we are late," she said after a few minutes passed.

His arms tightened around her. "And this worries me because…?"

"Erik!" She laughed against his chest. "He works himself into a frenzy worrying about both of us. I don't want to bother him more than necessary."

He seemed to ponder this. "Yes, if he had a heart attack, who would make sure my bills were paid?" Erik reluctantly pulled away and sat up. He padded toward the bathroom and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

Presently, Christine heard the sounds of Erik getting ready – the toilet flushing, running water, the tap of a toothbrush. These were all such normal sounds of things people did, but she had never actually witnessed or heard Erik doing any of them. How weird was it that she had never seen him brush his teeth? She knew he did – he often tasted of toothpaste, and she knew he was adamant about brushing before she even woke up.

By the end of today, they would reach the safe house, a residency of Erik's that she assumed would likely be a lot different from his home underneath the Paris opera. After that… then what? Even though she had decided to stay with him, live with him, _be_ with him for as long as that lasted, she had never really thought about the details.

"Christine."

She blinked up at him and realized she was still lying in bed. She jumped up and took her turn in the bathroom. Her suitcase was still in Nadir's room, so she would need to get it in order to change her clothes, but she could use what the hotel provided to at least freshen up. She did put on her bra, wanting to look a bit more like her typical self before seeing Nadir.

They didn't have to wait long before Nadir was knocking on the door. He entered with both his bag and hers, and she grabbed a set of clothes to wear, changing quickly in the bathroom. She felt better once she was fully dressed, though she immediately regretted choosing jeans. The thick seam between her legs was already starting to dig into her.

She also tossed on a green cardigan over her blouse. In the brighter light of the bathroom, dark purple bruises were visible on different points of her wrists. They didn't really hurt unless bumped, and she knew why Erik had done it – to keep her from touching him – but the sight was appalling. Likely, Erik's sharp attention had already noticed them, but at least this way she could keep them out of focus.

"Let's go!" she announced to both men.

It was not quite six o'clock in the morning. Nadir went first, followed by Erik, followed by Christine, the two shielding the masked man in case they encountered anyone in the halls. Nadir knew which passages to take that led quickest to the parking lot, having already checked them out, and when he pulled out keys, a large white van nearby lit up.

There were two front seats and a bench seat behind the front. In the back of the van, a large crate took up much of the rest of the room, and Christine guessed this was the same box in which Erik had traveled in the cruise ship. The sight made her shudder, but she ignored it the best she could. Erik sat in the middle of the back seat while Christine took up the front passenger seat. Nadir would drive.

As Nadir pulled them onto the main road, he flipped on a radio station that sent classic rock reverberating throughout the van's cabin. He was cheerful, singing along to the Who's "My Generation."

Christine glanced over her shoulder at Erik, who was trying to bore a hole in the back of Nadir's head with his glare. She swung back around to hide her grin.

Without stops, they had ten hours until they reached Saint-Ursanne, Switzerland. They had to travel into France for a little while before popping over to the other country. Since Erik didn't have a passport, or any type of papers at all, he would have to return to the crate for brief periods while they passed through borders.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The passage from England to France went smoothly. Both being in the European Union, the transition from one country to the next was easy. They had traveled through the Eurotunnel across the Channel, a new experience for Christine, and arrived in France only a couple hours into the drive.

Nadir had driven them at a brutal pace, stopping only to fill up the van. He let Christine buy snacks later in the morning after they made it inside the French border, but her stomach was rumbling by the time he felt it was safe enough to stop for a late lunch. He pulled over somewhere in the middle of nowhere in France, east of Paris, and bought them all sandwiches.

Erik, for the most part, stayed silent and sullen in the backseat. Throughout the drive, she could feel his eyes on her. Even when she tried to include him in conversation, he wouldn't say much, responding with short replies if he answered at all. She wasn't sure why he was so despondent, if it was because of last night or something else.

Either way, she was getting sick of the sullen mood in the van. More often than not, she caught him with his head tilted back, eyes closed as though he was napping. Maybe he was still exhausted from his ordeal in the crate. She joined him for an hour of rest herself, leaning her cheek against his shoulder as she dozed.

Nadir did try to lighten things up, which she appreciated. She mostly rode up front with him in order to draw attention away from the back of the van to any nosy passersby. If Erik wanted to sulk, that was on him, but the older man at least made for some good entertainment. Christine wanted to be excited about this last stage in their journey. By the evening, she would see where she would be living for who knew how long.

After they stopped for lunch, Christine offered to drive for a while. Nadir had been driving for over six hours by this point, and she thought he might like some rest before they reached the more mountainous region of southern France. She was too nervous to maneuver the large and unwieldy van on anything but straight highways.

He nodded and shot her a grateful look, pulling over at the next opportunity.

They switched places while Erik drummed impatient fingers on one knee. Nadir got in first, shutting his door, while Christine used the hand rail over her head to haul herself into the high seat.

Unfortunately, she flopped into the hard cushion of the seat quicker than she intended, causing her jeans to rub in a most unpleasant way against her soreness. She stifled a gasp, but not hurriedly enough for Nadir not to notice.

"Are you all right?" he asked, frowning at her as he buckled his seat belt.

"Y-yes," she said. She was too quick to dismiss his comment, and she could feel him eyeing her.

She turned on the engine and set both of her hands upon the steering wheel. In hindsight, she probably should have thought more about her actions, but she was too eager to get them back on the road. As she stretched out both of her arms, the sleeves of her cardigan rode up, exposing her wrists.

And the dark bruises that encircled them.

Nadir's brown eyes widened.

She glanced at him, trying to keep her eyes on the road. "Nadir, don't worry about it."

"What happened?"

Behind them, Erik had turned his attention forward, sitting up a little.

"N-nothing," she said, the lie fleeing her mouth.

"That doesn't look like _nothing_ ," Nadir said, anger coloring his tone.

"It's fine. Really!"

Nadir swung around in his seat to Erik, who looked back at him calmly. "Did you do this to her?"

"Nadir-" Christine interjected, but Nadir cut her off.

" _Did you_ , Erik?"

The masked man met Nadir's hard stare unflinchingly. Then Erik gave a small, almost unnoticeable, nod.

Nadir threw himself back in his seat, gesturing at Christine. "Pull over. Now."

She huffed a sigh but did as he asked. Before the van had even stopped moving, Nadir was out of his seat, out of the van, and wrenching open the door to the backseat. Luckily, they were in a fairly remote area with few cars passing by.

Nadir leap into the doorway and grabbed the front of Erik's suit with two hands, yanking him out of the vehicle. Christine yelped and scrambled to join them, running around just as Nadir slammed Erik into the side of the white van. All the while, Erik remained silent, yielding, allowing Nadir to manhandle him, his own arms limp at his sides.

"I trusted you!" Nadir spat, fisting Erik's clothes. "I trusted you to take care of her, to protect her. I thought of all the people in the world, she wouldn't have to be protected from _you_."

Erik's nostrils flared, but he said nothing.

Christine stood wringing her hands, unsure what to do as the two men stared each other down.

Nadir was livid, face red. "She brings out the man I know you are, the man I see you can be. And yet, again and again I have to witness how you do your best to mess it up. I have stood by while you two have tried to sort yourselves out, watching as she cried over you. I bought the damned ticket that brought her to you, Erik!"

Erik's eyes burned, narrowing. "Are you quite finished now?"

Nadir responded by releasing one hand from Erik's clothes long enough to make a fist and punch Erik on the unmasked portion of his face. Erik's head jerked to the side, bright red flooding to the surface of his cheekbone. Christine yelped at the sudden violence from the usual docile Iranian.

Nadir released him and stepped back, rubbing his knuckles. "Maybe I made a mistake when I encouraged her to choose you."

In a flash, Erik jumped upon the other man, spinning him around and trapping him with an arm around his neck, the curve of his sharp elbow threatening to cut off Nadir's air supply. Though Nadir clutched at Erik's arm, he held still, even as Erik slammed them both against the side of the van.

"You get one free punch, old man," Erik growled. "But if you try to take her from me, I really will kill you."

Christine leaped forward. "Stop it, both of you! Erik, let him go!"

Erik ignored her. Not even Nadir spared her a glance. The two men were too focused on each other. They raged in silence for a span of time before Nadir cut in with a wheeze of choked words.

"How could you do such a thing?"

The tension seemed to flood out of Erik. He loosened his grip, allowing Nadir the freedom to take a deep breath.

"It is my shame," he whispered.

He released the other man, stepping away, unable to look at either of them.

Christine slapped her palm against the side of the van, the loud noise causing both men to swing their gazes to her. She was so angry at both of them, but especially at Nadir. Even though he was trying to uphold some sense of her honor, she was in no mood. She had been stuck on a cruise ship for a week, stuck in a van for the better part of a day, and now Nadir was poking at wounds that she wasn't ready to deal with, especially not with him around.

"I don't need you to defend me," she said to Nadir. "It was all consensual and frankly, none of your business!"

He at least had the presence of mind to seem a little abashed.

She turned to Erik, softening a little. She had to say something to him, something to banish that guarded look he gave her. She spread her hands. "None of this is easy. I never expected it to be easy. I knew very well a week ago what I was getting into. But I'm here, aren't I? I stayed. And over time, we will have to learn how to deal with each other in better ways. We will have to continue to figure it out as we go. Okay?"

His amber eyes had a sheen to them she didn't often see. Erik drew himself up, coming out of his slumped over stance, straightening his body to his full height. His jaw worked as though he might speak, but instead, he swept down in a low bow.

She nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Now, both of you get back in the van. We have a full tank of gas, and I'm ready to see where I'm going to be living."

Without protest, the two men resumed their positions in the vehicle, again with Christine at the wheel. She checked her mirrors, turned the radio to classical, and pulled them back onto the highway. None of them spoke much after that.


	26. Chapter 26

**After a loooong week and now sick with a cold, I apologize for the shorter than normal chapter. However, at least it's a chapter! :) I hope you don't mind a few bouts of sweetness before the next storm hits.**

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

As the sun began to set, Nadir finally turned off the highway and followed signs that stated Saint-Ursanne lay ahead. She had been warned that the safe house stood outside of the small town, and really, Saint-Ursanne with its few rows of buildings wasn't much of a town either. The sparse population and remote location both made for a suitable location for a property that was unlikely to get much attention.

Nadir drove them through the main street of the town, letting Christine take a look at the lines of three-story buildings that had maintained much of their medieval character over the centuries. She spied an ancient church-like structure, a stone bridge stretching across the small river, a few shops and cafes that looked like they would be fun to explore later. This was a town that had escaped much of modern development.

They passed through the town and headed up narrow, winding streets into the green fields beyond, heading higher into the mountains that surrounded the village. About twenty minutes later, she caught sight of a two-story home rising in the distance, tucked around a bend so it was not immediately noticeable until they drove up to it.

The house was white with a brown roof, with tall windows lining the walls. It seemed large and larger still the closer they got, with different corridors and rooms seeming to head off in different directions. She couldn't wait to explore her new home, wondering for a brief moment how temporary it would be. No one had told her how long they would stay, but she pushed those thoughts aside. For now, she gazed at the manor that would now be her place of residence.

"What's the building to the left?" she asked, leaning down to peer at a long structure off to the side of the house.

Nadir shot her a small smile. "A stable. Some of my favorite horses are housed there."

Horses! She did remember him mentioning at some point that there were horses. She had never been on a horse, but she was eager to give riding a try. "That sounds like fun!" She twisted around to grin at Erik. "Do you ride?"

"At times," he replied. He was still so serious, had been all day and even more so after his fight with Nadir. Now, at least, he was talking to her.

Nadir pulled the van around the driveway that curved in front of the house. "There is a small staff that has taken care of the house in our absence. They live in the village, but they can come here regularly as needed. We pay them very well for their secrecy. In any case, they will take care of the horses and come once a week to clean. Someone will also come with regular meals and groceries, which will be dropped off at set times."

"All of that must cost a fortune!"

He glanced at her with a smile. "There is money enough to spare for the convenience."

The van shuddered to a halt outside the house, and they all climbed out to stand around in the dwindling sun. A cool breeze was blowing, a bit chillier than the humid Bostonian summer back home. It was still obviously summer here, with everything in full bloom, but Christine could tell the seasons changed sooner in this higher elevation.

Nadir went around to pull their luggage from the back. "The keys should be stashed somewhere near the door."

Erik held up a ring of several keys dangling from one of his fingers. "They should hide these more securely," he scowled. He stuck the largest in the green double doors and swung open one of them.

Christine followed him inside after grabbing her own luggage. Erik saw her struggling up the steps and took her main suitcase from her, carrying it with ease and sitting it down just inside the door.

The front door of the house opened to a wide expanse of a mix of modern amenities and old world style design. As Erik gave her a quick tour of the downstairs, also checking that they were indeed alone, he showed her a large kitchen, dining room, and two living areas – one a more traditional living room with overflowing bookshelves, the other a cozy resting area near a huge fireplace covered in old stone.

Beyond even all of that, there were _three_ separate guest bedrooms, only one of which contained a bed, all of which had their own bath. While they were exploring, Nadir set his suitcase in the room with a bed and began to unpack.

Christine continued to follow Erik as he inspected the place top to bottom. She wasn't sure what he was checking for, but he was methodical. The bottom floor of the house contained a second, smaller kitchenette near the back door, and no laundry room, but Nadir had said they would have to send their clothing off to be washed. She wasn't sure why an updated mansion like this one wouldn't have laundry, but she supposed the two men had never felt like washing their own clothes.

At one point, Erik stopped and laid a hand on a closed door off a small hallway. "The basement," he told her.

"Ah," she said, not giving it much thought. Okay, basement, got it.

Another few turns, and they entered a large room with floor-to-ceiling, deep wine-colored drapes. She immediately spied the grand piano, covered in a white cloth, in the corner of the room. Several other instruments graced various shelves and cabinets – a couple violins along with a cello.

She stepped over to the piano and lifted the cover off a corner. She raised the key cover so she could plink a few notes.

Erik winced. "It must be tuned."

"You know how to do that?"

"Of course."

Of course. She righted the blanket over the piano and followed him out of the room.

"I would love to sing again, Erik, once we are settled."

His eyes were intense as he glanced back at her. "As would I."

He led her up the wide staircase she had spotted near the front door. It curved around to reach a long hallway with one door on one side and two on the other. More bedrooms, she guessed. He showed her the two smaller bedrooms, continuing his inspection. He must be making sure the place was secure before they settled in.

The two bedrooms were nearly identical in size, both with smaller beds and single dressers. They walked over to the other door, which opened to a huge bedroom with opulent furniture. A four-poster bed stood to one side. The bedroom had its own floor-to-ceiling fireplace.

"What a gorgeous house," Christine said, which was true. "I can't believe the size of this room!" She had always lived in the city, either Boston or Hartford, Connecticut, or traveled in big cities with her father. Living spaces had usually been small at best and cramped at worst. She went over the window and tossed open the curtains, letting in more light.

She could feel Erik's eyes studying her. Turning, she grinned at him, trying to show that she was happy. Because she _was_ happy to finally be here with him, in this house where they would live for who knew how long.

"You may stay here," he said, gesturing to indicate the master bedroom. "I can easily take one of the other rooms."

Her grin faltered. "What do you mean?" He wanted them to stay in separate rooms?

"I thought you would prefer your own space."

She stared at him from across the room. He had stayed in the shadows, away from the window. "I'm sorry if I'm a bit confused." She was more than confused. Hurt made her next words more strained than she wanted. "After sharing a room on the cruise… I thought we might do that here."

"You… want to share a room? This room?"

She hated the flush she felt heat her cheeks. Did she have to spell it out for him? "I came here to be _with_ you, Erik." She walked across the room until she stood just in front of him, forcing him to face her head-on. "I think I've made it clear enough by now that I don't want to be your roommate or your friend. I want to be more than that."

He didn't reply. Instead, his cold hands clasped hers and raised them between them. With soft tenderness, he pushed up her sleeves to reveal the dark bruises on her wrists. He held her exposed wrists up, his point clear.

"I don't recall telling you to stop," she said, frowning a little. "Maybe it could've gone differently, but I meant what I said before. We will figure it out together. We will _learn_ together. I love all of you, Erik, not just the parts that are easy."

"None of me is _easy_ , my dearest."

She laughed softly at that. She stood on her tiptoes, which wasn't nearly enough to steal a kiss. However, he understood her upturned plea and bent to press his lips to hers.

"Kissing you is easy," she said, gazing up at him. His golden eyes shimmered in the low light of evening. "The rest will fall into place over time."

"You have too much faith in me."

"You have such little faith in yourself." She laid a palm against the darkening bruise on his exposed cheek. "I'm sorry about this."

"This was hardly any fault of yours!" he huffed, covering her hand with his own. "I deserved whatever he deemed necessary, and he certainly did not pull his punch. For once."

She gave a small smile. "Even so, it's our job to define our romantic relationship, isn't it? As much as Nadir adores you, I don't expect him to fully understand anything between us."

"Romantic relationship?" Erik echoed, raising his singular brow.

She shrugged. "That's how I think about it. If that's acceptable to you?"

"More than." He folded his tall body down to once again kiss her. His hands still on hers, he raised her hands to his face and pressed gently kisses down and around her bruised wrists. "Christine, I will gladly share this room with you, if you so wish."

"You know I do. I want this to be _our_ room."

His fingers stroked one of her curls before he released her and stepped back. "I will fetch our luggage. The kitchen should be well stocked if you require any food. We haven't yet had dinner."

They both headed back downstairs. Christine felt giddy with the possibilities now spread before her. Erik had agreed to share a room with her without much argument. He had also let her define what was between them, give it the name _relationship_ for the first time.

What might she start calling him? Calling him her "boyfriend" sounded too juvenile and "lover" too crass. "Partner" was too distant, and "suitor" implied the future of something beyond what they were sharing. They had never discussed what might come after, and Christine was not ready to broach the subject in any way.

She had called him her "love" before, and she adored the sound of that. However, the word seemed worthy of use only in private when they were alone.

No other word seemed to fit, so she supposed simply her "Erik" he would stay.

So wrapped up in her thoughts, she almost bumped into his back when he stopped in the doorway into the kitchen. She peered around him, spying Nadir sitting at the island counter, sipping what smelled like tea.

"I've made you each a cup," he said, smiling. His warm brown eyes looked heavy with fatigue, but his attitude was better than it'd been toward the last portion of their drive. "There is plenty of food as well."

"I'm not really hungry," Christine said, coming forward to join him. "I'd love some tea though."

Erik handed the cup she handed him without complaint, raising the fine china to his lips and sipping carefully around his mask. Christine found the tea to be delicious, soothing her tired body and warming her dry throat.

"Did a thorough sweep, did you?" Nadir asked the other man.

"I did. I found nothing, which was expected."

"Can't be too careful. I'm happy to hear the place is still clean."

"As am I."

The three of them fell into a companionable silence, cut only by the sounds of swallowing and the soft clink of porcelain cups. After Christine stifled her second yawn, both men rose to shoo her away.

"Go to bed, my dear," Erik said, gently taking her empty cup from her hands. "I will soon follow."

She bid Nadir goodnight, another yawn squeezing tears into the corners of her eyes. The hot tea had settled into her, and the long day of traveling was starting to hit her hard. She made her way back upstairs and toed off her shoes, pulled off her cardigan.

Erik arrived with both of their suitcases, and they spent a few moments unpacking toiletries. More than once, she had to smother a smile that rose to her face while watching him do something so utterly normal like finding his toothbrush. Her clothes reeked after being packed away for almost two days, and she made a face.

"I don't have anything to wear!" she said, aghast. Why hadn't she thought to put anything in her overnight bag instead?

Erik rooted in the closet, which contained some of his own regular clothes, for a garment bag and held it out to her. "Put your clothes in here, and they will be washed tomorrow. For now, I believe there are a variety of shirts and pants in the dresser. You might find something there." Amusement curled the side of his mouth. "I never quite know what the locals might leave when they stock the house."

She searched the dresser and pulled out a large t-shirt and soft pair of sweat pants, both of which were too long on her. But the clothes were better than wearing anything stinky from her suitcase, so they would do.

"You may go first," he said, indicating the bathroom, which had two sinks, but she wasn't going to complain. If he wanted privacy to get ready for bed, she could give it.

She grabbed the clothes and her toiletries bag and headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, dressed in the fresh clothing, she felt much better and ready to try out the four-poster bed that stood grandly to one side of the room. She tucked her bra into the top drawer of the dresser, refusing to wear it to bed anymore.

For a man who slept little, Erik had always insisted on the best. The coverlet on the bed was plush, a dark gray that had a slight satiny sheen to it. She pulled the covers back and slid between the sheets, sighing contentedly at the softness that surrounded her.

Erik finished in the bathroom himself. He had changed his clothes, but only into a pair of his usual black pants and a clean button-down shirt. She knew the pajamas she had bought him were in the laundry pile, but still – would he not wear something from the dresser to bed?

It was their first night here, and she could let any of the weirdness go. He was still on edge around her, they had still not moved beyond what had happened in that British hotel, and so she bit her tongue against any rising retorts. Even when he joined her in bed and did not remove his mask, she didn't say anything.

She did curl again him immediately, before he could voice any protest. To his credit, his arm came around her and held her close. His heart was beating only a little quicker than his usual calm tempo, and the long line of his body was relaxed and at ease.

"We made it," she murmured as sleep began to take her under.

"That we did," he said, voice soft and musing.

She sighed and tucked her face against him. Her thoughts slowly melted into sleep, but one feeling rose, one she had shoved aside until now. If she hadn't been mostly asleep by then, she might have possessed the wherewithal to deny the thought to leave her mouth. But she was worn out, and her lips moved of their own accord.

"I miss my mama."

He stiffened around her, but she was already gone to sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Bonus earlier than expected chapter! I had to take off today because I'm still sick, now with a upper respiratory infection. But that means I had a bit of time to write. :) I hope to get another up by the end of Sunday.**

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

Erik was already gone when she woke late the next morning, his side of the bed cold to the touch. She was a bit disoriented after waking up in yet another new room, the dark drapes and soft feeling of the sheets unfamiliar.

She pulled on her bra under the t-shirt she wore and headed downstairs. As she approached the kitchen, she heard the low voices of her two companions, murmuring as though afraid she might hear. They did stop as she grew nearer, and when she entered the kitchen, they were both gazing at her as though they were expecting her.

She pushed her heavy curls away from the back of her neck. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Nadir returned. "I'm pleased to see you slept in." He stood and poured her a cup of coffee. She was thankful to have something stronger than tea.

"What were you talking about?" she asked. She refused to apologize for her bluntness, too. She was a part of this now, and she hated any secrets they might try to hide from her.

The two of them exchanged a look, which she pretended not to notice.

Erik answered. He was fully dressed by in different clothes from what she had seen from him before. He wore a more modern-cut suit, fully black with a dark gray tie. No vest. While he still looked very formal, the new clothes suited him. "The men from whom we are hiding are showing little activity in the past week. For now, it seems as though we have escaped their notice as we left the country."

"That's good," she said, sipping the hot liquid. "Right?"

"Normally, yes," Nadir replied. "However, I believe they are being too quiet, if that makes sense. I'd rather see some activity than none at all. They may be putting forth effort to hide their movements."

"What can we do about it?"

"Nothing at all, at the moment." He stood and went to the sink to wash out his cup. "Try to relax if you can. We are perfectly safe here. I'm heading into town soon for supplies. Make me a list if you want anything."

"Will do."

He inclined his head to both of them and headed toward his room.

Erik turned the page of the newspaper he was reading. The text was in French from what she could see of the headlines, which didn't really surprise her. Saint-Ursanne was close to France, and the language was probably commonly spoken around here.

She peered out one of the kitchen windows as she drank her coffee. "I was really hoping to get outside today, maybe see the horses. It looks like rain though."

"The forecast says thunderstorms," Erik said, tapping the newspaper. "You will find the weather quite variable here, and the autumn colors are some of the most vibrant I have ever witnessed."

"We'll be staying here that long?" She hadn't considered their length of stay. The realization that she hadn't been asking any questions of the two men was slowly catching up to her.

He peered at her over his cup, his eyes searching but for what, she didn't know. "Through the end of the year, at least, and likely the better part of the next." His tone was light, but the words cut into her anyway.

"M-months?"

Why did that shock her? Did she really think they would eventually – quickly – go back to Erik's home underneath the Palais Garnier opera house? Maybe she had, but the truth was that she hadn't let herself really, truly think about what would happen after they arrived here.

"You didn't know," he said softly.

"No, I didn't." She struggled against the roaring that rose in her ears, the way her heart thudded against her ribs, and the sweat that made her swipe her palms against her pants. "I didn't ask any questions."

"When you accepted the ticket."

From Nadir, he meant. When she had agreed to come aboard the _Queen Eleanor_. Had she been so incredibly stupid? In her letters to her mother and Meg, she had told them she was going on a trip, that she was safe, that she loved them, that she would contact them as soon as she could.

She looked up, meeting Erik's calm stare. "When do I get to call my mother?"

Silence stretched between them. Her rising discomfort, edging into panic, did not ease. Finally, Erik set aside his cup and folded the newspaper, laying it on the table.

"Any contact, whether by phone or letter or email, exposes our location. We do not possess the ability to send any message securely enough. Not here."

She hated the way her voice cracked. "Then where?"

"It is not safe."

"Who cares if I send a letter, especially if I don't give anything away? I thought they didn't know my name!" She was too loud, on the edge of shouting.

Erik remained still, calm, his voice low and measured. If she had been more rational at that moment, she might have realized how clenched his hands were atop the table or seen the tick of a muscle in his jaw.

Outside, she heard the pitter-patter of a rain shower moving into the area.

"Not yet, Christine. I did my best to eliminate anyone in New York who had access to evidence of your presence near mine. While we stayed away from most surveillance cameras in any places not fully public, I took no chances. However, what if your mother decides to seek you out?"

"S-she wouldn't."

"So you say. We can't take any risks." Erik stood and washed out his cup before pausing in the doorway that led toward the back of the house. Christine knew exactly where he was heading – the music room.

"Erik!" She leapt to her feet, grabbing onto his sleeve. "Please!"

He turned his head to look down at her. From this angle, she could only see the hard lines of his mask. "You're not a prisoner, my dear," he said, steel in his voice. "I did not kidnap you, did not pressure you in any way to come here, have not commanded you to stay. At any moment, you may decide to leave and go back to your mother. That is the only gift I can give you."

He jerked his arm free of her grasp and swooped out of the kitchen before she could formulate any kind of reply.

Seconds later, she knew exactly what she would hear: Erik pounding out his emotions upon the piano with unrestrained fury in ways he hadn't been able to do since Paris.

She didn't way to hear the discordant notes. She fled out the side door that led outside from the kitchen. The rising heat and humidity of the day hit her anguished face. On the opposite side of the house, pressed against the white stucco, the rain pelting her bare feet, she could almost pretend she couldn't hear his song.

Nadir found her a little later, after she'd had a chance to calm down. She knew she looked a mess, the hem of her pajama pants stained with flecks of mud that also covered her feet. He told her to go wash up and meet him outside. They would travel to town together to fetch supplies.

She didn't want to listen to a lecture. No doubt Nadir had heard much of the conversation between her and Erik earlier. Luckily, the Iranian didn't seem much in the mood to give one. As he drove them both into town, he chattered about anything else, from the history of Saint-Ursanne to how much he had missed the tea cakes of a certain bakery to the horses inside the stable.

The talk of horses perked her up a little. She made him promise to introduce her after lunch.

They bought pastries from his favorite bakery and sandwiches from a small vendor. After so long on the ocean with limited scenery to look at, she was thrilled by the gorgeous landscape of this country, even in the steady rain. Snow-capped mountains rose in the distance, and she remembered what Erik had said about the colors of this place in the fall. He had been trying to give her something to look forward to, and she had panicked.

She couldn't shake off the shock that she couldn't contact anyone she had once known, especially her mother. What would happen after no one heard from her in a while? It had almost been a week and a half. What would happen after several more weeks? A month? Wouldn't her mom, who had always been overprotective, especially after Christine's cancer diagnosis, worry about her?

She had been so caught up in being with Erik, she hadn't thought about what that would _mean_.

Their trunk full with supplies, the two of them drove back to the house. She helped Nadir unload and put things away, and took up the several bags of items she had purchased for her and Erik, including a few pieces of clothing for her and more pajamas for him. Because if she was truly going to stay here, why should what he wore to bed change? Why should their relationship change?

She hated the way she had left things between them, but she couldn't bring herself to interrupt the pounding at the piano she could hear as soon as she got out of the van. She lay on her bed for a while until she heard Nadir knock softly on the door.

"Lunch?" he asked, and she nodded.

As she unpacked the sandwiches they had bought, Nadir headed off to see if Erik wanted lunch. He returned quickly, staying simply, "He declines." No surprise there.

They ate in companionable silence. Once finished, she prodded Nadir about the horses, and he gladly took her to see them for the first time. The rain hadn't let up, now coming in quick spurts, but the walk to the covered stable wasn't long.

"There is a hired stable hand who tends to the horses," Nadir told her. "But I do enjoy brushing them myself whenever I get a chance."

The horses were more than magnificent. Christine had never seen a real horse up close, and they seemed to tower over her. There were two – both males. Nadir went straightaway to the nearest horse whose deep brown coat glimmered in the humid air.

"His name is Magikos, Greek for 'magic,'" he said. He spoke softly to the horse in Persian, reaching out to stroke the wide nostrils. "I admit, it sounds like a silly name, but it reminds me of Reza. The boy loved to watch Erik's magician tricks."

She gave a small, sad smile at that, watching the man soothe the horse as though he was meeting an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time. He picked up a brush and showed her how to sweep across the large body.

"Magikos is a lovely, gentle gelding. If you wish to ride, he will follow your every command without issue." Nadir nodded his head at the other horse that stood further back in the stable. "Caesar, on the other hand, needs much more encouragement to let you atop his back."

"Caesar?" The name amused her. "Is he Erik's?"

"He is. His temperament matches his master, too. Caesar is a stallion who would rather bite your fingers than let you pet him. Never approach him unless Erik is with you. He listens to no one else."

The two of them took care of both horses. Once finished with Magikos, Nadir slowly moved toward Caesar, both palms raised. He spoke in soft Persian, and the stallion's ears pricked forward.

Nadir smiled. "Ah, you _do_ recognize me." He didn't try to touch the horse, but he changed the water and fed him without much worry of the beast trying to hurt him.

Caesar was bigger than Magikos, with broad, powerful shoulders, long legs, and a sweeping mane of black hair. He was a sleek inky black from head to hoof, and his coal black eyes watched her every move. She would have to have Erik introduce her.

Erik.

This far from the house, she couldn't hear the piano, but she doubted Erik had stopped. After the horses were taken care of, she went back to stroking Magikos's head, smiling a bit when the horse butted at her hands if she stopped.

She felt Nadir's eyes on her, but she steadfastly ignored him. However, he wasn't about to let her keep on ignoring him like she wished. He finally cut through the silence.

"I heard your argument this morning."

"I figured," she said. "I was loud enough."

He spoke slowly as though carefully choosing his words. "I would have given you the same answer if you had asked me. I suppose this is something we should have discussed before you joined our trip."

"Your _trip_." She laughed a derisive laugh. "I wouldn't call this a trip, Nadir. I'm _moving in_ with you both for the indefinite future. I guess… I guess I never thought about how long term this would be."

He sighed wearily. "You need to go talk to him."

"I _did_ talk to him!"

"No, you reacted." He strode over to her and took her by the shoulders. "Go talk to him, Christine."

"You should hear how furious he is at me." She gestured in the direction of the house.

"He is furious with himself. He hurt you, and now you want to talk to your mother. We both understand what he is no doubt thinking right now."

Nadir's blunt words stung, but he was right. Erik's foul mood wasn't her fault, wasn't even directed at her, but if she wanted to continue down the path of being with him, she had no choice but to face him. She couldn't wait any longer.

"Go to him, Christine."

She nodded, took a deep breath, and headed back inside at a shuffling pace.


	28. Chapter 28

**I hope you enjoy this longer chapter! I couldn't figure out how to break it up, so here you go. Please review - I love reading your thoughts!**

 **This chapter is rated M for MATURE. Really, if you're still reading by this point, you should kind of expect it. You've been plenty warned. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

She could hear the music as she approached. She hadn't heard Erik play so ferociously since the night she left his home underneath the Parisian opera house. Toeing off her muddy shoes in the foyer, she quickly washed off the stench of horse and changed into something that matched the humid weather – a blue sundress with fluttering short sleeves. She pulled her hair into a low, messy bun to get it off her neck.

Her bare feet padded along the wood floor. Down the stairs she went, down the wandering halls that led to the back music room. As she stood outside the shut door, the music was loud, pounding inside her head. She could feel his dark mood through the soles of her feet.

Laying a hand on the handle, she twisted and pushed the door open enough to see Erik at the piano, his body bowed over the keys as his hands flew back and forth. Her ears burned from the awful sounds he pulled from the instrument.

"Erik?" she called.

If he heard her, he was ignoring her. But over such loud music, he might not have heard.

She crossed the room until she stood next to him. His eyes weren't closed, so there was no way he didn't know she was there. However, his furious pace didn't let up.

"Erik, I think we should talk." Not exactly what anyone might want to hear, but she wanted to be as clear as possible.

No change from him. She really did love to watch him play. Even while angry and belting out such terrible music, he was magnificent, powerful, the long lines of his body swaying in time with the rhythm. His feet, as always encased in his perfect dress shoes, pushed the pedals in strong, unceasing taps.

Maybe he wasn't quite ready to listen to anything she had to say. Maybe she would have to use her actions instead.

She watched his hands, waiting for the second it took for him to lift his right hand to place it on higher keys. When she found an opening, she slipped past his arm to step between him and the piano, one of his angular knees on each side of her.

The action seemed to enrage him. He slammed both fists onto the keys, the sudden notes and slap of his hands on ivory making her jump. But she held fast in her position. He wasn't mad at her, she reminded herself, though he certainly seemed like he was.

"Erik," she said, his name a breath on her lips. She placed her hands on his arms just above his elbows, felt his biceps tense under her touch.

He wasn't meeting her eyes, his own sharp, golden gaze looking at a spot beyond her head. Her hands traveled to his shoulders and smoothed across those wide expanses to his neck. His pulse beat wildly under her fingertips. She brought her palms up to cup his cheeks, one covered in cool porcelain, the other jaw clenched tight.

"Erik, my love."

His eyes swiveled to hers, wide and naked with open fear. He wasn't furious – he was terrified. Terrified of losing her.

"You would still call me that?"

"Of course," she said, pushing past the lump that rose suddenly in her throat. She hated that he doubted her feelings, that she had made him doubt _her_. "Just because I'm missing my mom doesn't mean I don't love you."

He reached up to clasp her upper arms, his grip tight but not painful. "I have given you no reason to stay. There is nothing for you here."

" _You_ are here."

"That is hardly enough!"

"It's enough for now."

His single nostril flared. "For now?"

She sighed and leaned closer to press her cheek against his smooth one. "I can't lie, Erik. It's a shock to learn that I can't talk to mama. I miss her already. We've always talked, never gone long without doing so. I don't know what will happen after I don't contact her for weeks or- or for months. What will she think? What will she do?"

She pulled back, searching his face, finding all of his own insecurities laid bare. "I worry about so many things, Erik, and I'm allowed to worry and miss my mom, okay? I should be able to have those feelings without you thinking the worst of me."

"The _worst_ of you, dearest? After all this time, how can you not know how I think of you?"

" _Ever yours, ever in adoration,_ " she quoted, brushing the hard line of his jaw with her knuckles. He had penned those words in his own goodbye letter to her, when he thought he would never see her again. She was highly aware of the fact that he had never _told_ her outright that he loved her, but every one of his actions showed that kind of emotion.

He sucked in a shaky breath. "My feelings remain the same, but I fear I have only caused you pain since that moment."

"No way," she said sharply, silencing him with a finger on his mouth. "You don't get to do that thing you do where you take all of the blame. I'm the one who came on this journey without asking questions or thinking it all through."

"And now that you have?" he asked, his warm breath contrasting with his cool lips on her finger.

"I'm where I want to be. That hasn't changed. I just need to work through how I feel about everything else." She removed her finger and leaned her forehead against his. His hands still gripped her upper arms. "I need time, okay?"

"I can give that."

"But you have to stop worrying that I'm going to bolt at any second." She pressed her lips to his, a sweet kiss that caused him to shift closer to her on the piano bench. "I can't take any more of these crazy piano sessions. They stress me out."

She felt his mouth curl against hers. "I suppose next time I could go for a ride on Caesar instead," he said.

"I met him today! He was gorgeous, but you need to introduce me properly since he only listens to you."

"That he does. Be careful with that one – he is wild."

Just like her man, Christine thought. But that was okay because she was already addicted to him and his wildness, the way he surprised her again and again, the unceasing earnestness of him.

She kissed him again, felt his hands drop from her arms to roam across her back and pull her closer still. She pulled back, not quite ready to give in completely.

"I got rid of my apartment, dropped out of school, quit my job. I'm _all in_ , Erik." Her fingers dipped just beneath his mask to trace the outer edge of the malformed portion of his cheek. "I love you so much."

His hands spasmed and clutched her back, pressing her against him. His long legs stretched to either side of her, and he was at the perfect height for easy kisses. He captured her mouth again, and she took the kisses deeper, angling her lips to draw him in and taking the opportunity to dip her tongue across his when his lips parted in a gasp. He tasted like honeyed tea he must have drunk while she was gone. She wanted more of him.

She stroked the heated skin beneath his mask, let her fingers creep higher to find the odd angles of his cheekbone, knocking the mask askew to allow for her hand. His grip on her tightened – to hold her close or push her away, she waited to find out. She had felt so distant from him for days now, wanted desperately to be close to him again. Almost two days had passed since that moment in the hotel room, and even though she was still a bit sore, she was beginning to wonder what a second time would feel like.

She snapped back to the present, realizing one of her knees had crept up to rest against his hip, the hem of her dress hiked up. He was still hugging her tightly against his chest, and his breathing was harsh as he broke away from her mouth.

"Daroga," he said.

She understood. Nadir was clearly giving them some privacy, but they wouldn't be truly alone for a while yet. It was the afternoon, and even though Erik had drawn the curtains in the music room, it was still daylight outside. This was hardly the appropriate time for anything more than kisses.

She eased her knee down, her cheeks burning. "I got carried away," she admitted. She slid her hand free of his mask and straightened the porcelain for him.

She felt rather than heard the chuckle in his throat. "Let us not shock the old man."

"Somehow, I'm not sure we could."

"You might be surprised. He can be quite old fashioned." Erik released her and slid off the bench so they both could walk away from the piano. He took her hand, thumb smoothing across the back. His face was pensive. "You took a great risk interrupting me like that."

She probably had. When wrapped up in his emotions like he had been, he could be volatile. She raised her chin. "You would never hurt me."

"Intentionally."

She shook her head. "You have more control than that, Erik."

"And you have more faith in me than I deserve," he snapped. Though he didn't drop her hand, he did press the other to his nose, pinching the half-covered bridge.

"Oh my love." Stepping closer to him, she wrapped her free arm around his middle, hugging him. "You need to let go of this guilt."

He huffed, his breath tickling the top of her head. "Not likely ever."

A clear but light knock sounded on the door leading into the music room, interrupting her next words. They stepped away from each other as Erik moved toward the door and opened it.

Nadir at least had the sense to look sheepish. "I apologize profusely for interrupting, but it's important." He turned a serious gaze to the other man. "I received a phone call from one of my old contacts."

Before Christine could register the fact that Nadir possessed a phone – a phone he wasn't letting her use, no less – Erik launched into rapid-fire Persian. The two men spoke back and forth, their voices heated but the anger not directed at each other. She hadn't heard them deliberately leave her out of a conversation like this before. The only other time they had spoken in Persian, Erik had switched them to English for Christine's benefit.

They had seemingly forgotten about her. The two of them stood closer together, heads tilting together as they examined something on Nadir's phone. She heard her name interjected into the unfamiliar words, and then both men turned to look at her.

"Pardon our rudeness," Nadir said, his face the picture of regret. "Would you excuse us for a while?"

"Sure," she said, still a bit stunned by the sudden turn of events.

She was a little relieved when Erik strode over, took her chin, and gave her a calm, gentle kiss. However, he hadn't been so openly affectionate in front of the other man, and if he felt the need to reassure her – or himself – with a bit of affection, what was going on?

She wanted to ask, but before she could formulate a decent question, they both hurried out the door. Erik went first, leaving Nadir to duck back inside the doorway to say to her, "On your own for a while, I'm afraid. We'll join you for dinner."

She only nodded dumbly. As she followed them into the hallway, she caught sight of the door to the basement opening and closing behind them. It closed with an audible click of a lock being turned.

They had locked her out.

Hours passed.

Christine tried her best to occupy herself. The rain had picked up again, so she didn't go out to see the horses another time. The library in the formal dining room contained a wide variety of titles, reminding her of Erik's collection in his Parisian home. She read a few pages out of a dozen of books. She plinked at the piano and plucked at the strings of the cello.

The rain caused her eyelids to become heavy, so she lay down on the huge bed upstairs, but it felt too empty for her to do more than stare at the ceiling.

She spent some time standing outside the basement door. Twice, she tried the handle, still finding it locked. No voices rose up from the underground cellar, but she doubted she would've been able to understand them even if she could have heard.

At 5:00 p.m., an older woman showed up at the door with three large bundles of clean clothes. Nadir had set out money for weekly laundry service, so Christine thanked and paid the woman. She set Nadir's bundle outside his room and carried the other two upstairs. Having little else to do, she put her clothes in the long dresser that lined one side of the master bedroom. She hung up Erik's suits and shirts and carefully put away all of his accessories. He didn't seem like he would care where his stuff went as long as he knew where everything was, but she took care to leave everything neatly for him anyway.

She also finished unpacking both of their suitcases. Pictures went on the dresser, while Erik's assortment of medicines, vials, syringes, and other first aid kit items went into the bathroom.

In his suitcase, she found the sleek blue box of the rose pendant comb she had worn in her hair in New York. This, she carefully lay atop the dresser where he was sure to notice it. That might be yet another topic of conversation later. If he ever came out of the basement.

In the bedroom, she found a collection of writing instruments – some of Erik's composing papers and ink pens, as well as empty journals and stationary. She took a few pieces of paper and one of the fancy pens and wrote her mother a letter she would probably never be able to send. Folding it up carefully, she tucked it away in her empty suitcase that now rested under the bed.

Dinnertime came. A young boy showed up at the front door at precisely 7:00 p.m., the time Nadir had told her this morning that dinner would always be delivered. There were perfect portions for three, including dessert. She thanked the boy in French, paid him the money Nadir had set aside for her, and took the food to the kitchen. Briefly, she considered knocking on the basement door because Nadir _had_ said they would join her for dinner. However, it's not like they didn't have clocks, especially if Nadir had a phone, so she wasn't going to bother.

She ate alone, in silence. The food was delicious.

More hours passed.

After cleaning up the kitchen and putting the other two plates in the fridge, she went back upstairs and took a very long bath. That morning, she had purchased a lovely rose-scented bubble bath solution that should have helped her relax. It was a scent that she knew Erik would probably enjoy. Even though she came out of the bath tired and ready for bed, she knew she would get no sleep until Erik came out of the basement.

Towel-drying her hair, she put on one of her knee-length t-shirt gowns and climbed into bed.

She tried to read some more, but none of the words made any sense to her distracted brain. Eventually, the clock nearing midnight, she put the book on the nightstand and flicked off the lamp.

She had no intention of dozing off, but she did anyway. The dip of the mattress beside her stirred her from her dreamless sleep, and she was fully awake in seconds, sitting up. She could tell from the damp scent of his musky soap that he had showered.

After not seeing him for the rest of the day, she couldn't stand it. She tugged on the lamp's cord with such force that she almost knocked it over, throwing them both into hazy light.

He had donned the black silk pajamas she had bought him, for the first time since the last night they had spent together on the cruise ship. He also still wore his mask and wig, a change from how he had once placed his mask on the nightstand before slipping between the sheets with her.

"I woke you," he said softly, not looking at her. "Forgive me."

She shrugged, feeling foolish for blinding him with the light. However, she'd needed it, needed to see him, to know for sure he was there.

"Nadir has gone back to Paris, effective immediately."

"What?" she choked out. "Why?"

He didn't respond, motionless upon the edge of the bed. His broad shoulders sloped forward, his wiry hands clasped between his knees. He wasn't going to tell her?

"It's not like him to run off without saying goodbye," she said bitterly.

"We had hoped you would be asleep by now. You should sleep, Christine."

She should sleep! How could she possibly sleep right now?

When she didn't answer, he rose from the bed, padded over to the lamp on her side, and clicked it back off. Incredulously, she watched the shadow of his tall form return to his side of the bed and stretch across on his back without pulling the covers down first. She sat there for a long moment, staring at him in the dark. His eyes were closed, not glittering in the low light coming from the moon outside. The milky glow of his mask shone at her, his face at profile all she could see.

Anger surged within her. How dare he think they could both go to sleep _now_?

Rising to her knees, she hurled herself on top of him, one leg to either side of his waist, her palms landing flat against his firm chest.

"I'm not sleeping until you answer my questions!" she spat, blindly glaring down at him in the darkness.

"Christine!" He lay still beneath her, but his body was that of a panther about to spring, his muscles coiled. She felt the concave dip of his belly tense between her uncovered thighs, only the thin silky material of his shirt separating them. "What are you doing?"

"Wanting some answers, obviously." She leaned forward. His eyes were definitely open now, the twin hard pinpoints of golden light glaring at her. "The two of you vanished. Vanished with no explanation! What is going on?"

"I do not have to give you answers," he said, voice cold.

She could play this stupid waiting game. He wasn't going to be able to ignore his way out of this one. "Yes, you do."

"Christine, remove yourself." His heels dug into the mattress. She knew he was moments away from removing her himself.

She also knew he could see her quite clearly in the low light. She narrowed her eyes, pursued her lips, and gave him her best pissed off face. "No."

In a blur of limbs and clothing, he had her flipped onto the mattress, flat on her back. He crouched between her spread legs, and her mind darted for a second to recognize that her gown was up around her waist. He didn't pin her down, his fists to either side of her shoulders.

He snarled close to her face. "Must you challenge me every step of the way, girl? Why can you not accept that sometimes I do things to protect you that you _do not need to know about_?"

Her anger faded a bit at that, but she kept her biting tone. "Because I'm your partner. _We_ are partners. And if we are truly going to do this, truly going to be together in a relationship or whatever you want to call it, you have to learn how to trust me with this information. You can't keep things from me. Not anymore, Erik!"

"Christine-"

"You don't have to protect me!"

"Then what else am I good for?" he demanded, shoving his fists into the mattress on either side of her. "Everything I buy you is purchased with blood money, and I have no way of ever providing for you otherwise. My name is full of filth, my hands are covered in blood, and my body is too broken to ever bring you true pleasure. My mind might be that of a genius, but it has become too twisted to do anything but bring you down into its own abyss. I have nothing, _nothing_ to offer but protection, Christine, and if you don't need even that…"

He cut himself off with a snarl of disgust.

 _Oh, Erik._

She saw that he was poised to try to flee, and she clutched at his neck, pulling him down to smother anymore of his ramblings with her own mouth. His thin lips trembled against hers. She couldn't touch anything he had just said, couldn't even begin to try, but she could at least touch _him_.

She let her hands do just that, beginning to wander her fingertips over the back of his neck from the edge of his wig to the collar of his shirt. She smoothed over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the knots of his back, his flexing ribs, his heaving belly.

"I love you," she said into his mouth. Because what else could she say against the horrible image of himself he had just painted?

He shuddered over her. Her fingers traveled up his chest to the top button of his black shirt and flicked it open. His lips pressed harder against hers, and she welcomed him with a part of her lips and a swipe of her tongue. Her fingers found more buttons and undid those as well until his shirt was halfway open, and she spread her palms against the coolness of his naked flesh.

"Christine," he keened.

"I love you, Erik," she murmured, each time they parted for air. "Maybe you don't believe me, but I love the parts of you that you think are true but aren't, and the parts of you that are true that you just can't see yet."

More buttons parted under her deft fingers until she was finally able to slide the silky material free of his body, pulling it over his shoulders, down his arms, until it puddled behind him somewhere in the dark. She could barely see in the moonlight, but his alabaster skin was a ghostly shape before her. Here in this night, she couldn't see the silvery scars of his past, but her fingertips found the raised ridges and kissed them with her touch.

"I love _all_ of you," she said, and his breath hitched as he fed from her lips again.

He settled atop her, his weight a comfortable presence. Between her legs, he was only semi-aroused, but this wasn't about sex, at least not yet. One of her hands found his mask, fingers curling into the grooves of the nose and cheek, and her other caressed up and down his arm, tracing scars and sinewy muscle.

"Erik," she whispered, needing his permission.

"Do it." His musical tenor was rough with something unknown – a mix of pain, need, lust.

She did, lifting the mask from his face. She barely took the time to set it aside before she was also reaching for his wig, and the black hair fell away just as easily.

He was stripped before her from the waist up, clad only in his thin pajama pants. She didn't give him time to contemplate this new exposure, tugging him back down into her embrace. She sighed as his lips, now feeling only of his own bare skin, found her neck and pressed fervent kisses under her ear and across her throat.

Her hands freely explored him just as his lips seemed determined to map her own neck and face. She smoothed over his scalp, memorized the soft texture of his true hair. She loved this part of him that he rarely revealed, and while she understood why he hid his true appearance, she vowed to show him that she found him irresistible nonetheless. Mysterious masked man in a formal suit, scarred man now revealed above her – both melding into one vision of _Erik_ , and she wanted every bit of him.

She wanted _him_. Now.

She couldn't get enough of him, enough of the feel of him, even as she felt his roaming mouth and hands that hadn't strayed from her arms or above her shoulders. She kissed what she could reach, her lips catching on the deformed circle on his scalp, her fingers flicking pebbled nipples.

He bent over her and pressed his ruined cheek against her flat chest. "Christine," he said, her name a breathy groan.

She took his large, bony hands in hers and placed them on each of her legs, just above her knees. His breath hitched, and she pulled them a space higher, showing him what she wanted. Then she went back to her own gentle but insistent exploration of him, encouraging with her own roaming touches.

He rose up enough so that he could slip both hands up her bare thighs, his gentle caresses stirring her to life. The hem of her gown was already gathered at her waist, so as he found her hips, he also found the edges of her underwear. However, he didn't pause there, continued upward until the cool touch of his fingers fanned across the uneven lines of her own scars.

"Ah!" she gasped at the bold contact, surprised yet again that such a touch could stir her sensitive skin in a way that wasn't painful. In a quick movement, he pushed her hem up and pressed an open-mouthed kiss upon her breastbone before tugging the material back down. His respect for her privacy warmed her and made desire for him pool deep within her.

"Erik, please." She squirmed a bit against him, wanting more. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she fought to bring him closer. In a surge of confidence, she hooked her heels around him and hugged him closer with her legs, fitting their hips together.

He panted harshly in her ear, his hands settling back on her bare hips. "I can't, Christine. I can't. What if I hurt you again? I could not dare to do that to you again."

Oh, but she burned for him, and while she thought the words _I'm still sore_ , she refused to say them. She _was_ still sore from two nights ago. Her wrists still bore the fading marks, now turned a light green-brown.

She cupped his face in her hands, knowing he could read her expression in the dark. "I'm not afraid, my love. I want you so badly. If- if you go slowly, it won't hurt." At least, this is what she thought would happen, having as much experience as he did - very little.

She didn't give him time to think about the next step. She scooted back enough to peel off her own underwear, tossing them off the edge of the bed. She felt weird and vulnerable, now exposed to his bright gaze, now lying beside him on the bed instead of cradled under him as she had been. As the instigator in all of this, the thought crossed her mind that maybe he didn't _want_ to be intimate with her. Was she being too overbearing? She had stripped him, bared his face, made him touch her.

Her face burned as much as her body did. "Erik, I-I didn't mean to force any of this. If you don't want to-"

He cut her off by hooking a hand under her knee and pulling her across the bed to him. At once, his body was atop hers again, his hips slanted just to the side of hers.

He very obviously _wanted_ to.

One of his hands cradled the back of her neck, tilting her face upward so he could take her mouth, his elbow supporting much of his heavy weight. His other hand sought between her legs, to the place she had just freed to his questing touch. He skimmed along her most intimate spot, and she shivered in response.

He pulled back enough to look down at her, eyes glittering and the only bit of him she could see. "Promise you will say if I cause you pain."

"I promise," she whispered.

And then he began to press a single finger against her, and she knew from the sudden slick-slide that she was readier than she had been before. She adjusted her legs, let her knees fall to the side, embarrassed by her own willingness to expose herself but wanting more of him too eagerly to give pause. His finger began to dance, and more joined in to the rhythmic movement inside her, outside her, pressing and touching and finding the spots that sent her arching off the mattress.

He was murmuring in her ear, his lips brushing that shell of sensitive skin, words spilling from him of devotion, adoration, of how beautiful she looked, of how brightly her soul was laid bare before him. Sweet Christine, beautiful Christine. Her soul? Her mind locked onto that thought even as her body lost its grip on the moment and spiraled outward into sharp waves of pleasure. He swallowed her cries.

He waited until her skittering heartbeat slowed, and she had stopped pulsating around the two fingers buried deep within her. She sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled them out, but she felt no twinge of discomfort, and he was now loosening the ties of his pants.

One of his knees sought between hers, pushing her legs farther apart, and then both knees were between hers, and her thighs rested on the outside of his hips. Or was she the one who had opened herself to him? Or maybe they had moved in unison, each seeking the unspoken movement that would meld them together.

He didn't ask her for permission, didn't do more than stroke her face and wait for her to take the next step. And she did, slipping a slender hand between their bodies to feel the heavy weight of him in her palm through the black silk.

He hissed between his perfect teeth, and she grinned in response, running her hand up and down him.

Yes, this. This was what she wanted. This give and take between them. Solid and real and _comfortable_ as though they were merely dancing an ancient dance for which they now knew all the steps.

"I can't," he said. "No more." And fiercely captured her mouth with his, rocking into her grasp.

Ah, she knew what he meant. His pants already loosened, she easily guided him out, feeling the sleek contrast of silk covering steel. For the first time that night, she felt a little fear at the thought of what they were again about to do, remembering the way her body had split open beneath him the first time.

He seemed to notice her hesitation and drew back. Despite his need for her, he didn't press onward.

"We can stop here," he said, roughened voice still able to sound so, so gentle. "I want to do this right this time, Christine."

This time. Her arms encouraged him close once again. "You are, in every way."

This time, that rigid part of him nuzzled her intimately, pushing in only slightly and pausing, his arms tense with the strain of such control. She reached up to cup his cheek, the twists of his mangled flesh heated under her palm.

This time, _she_ adjusted her hips and helped him slide in further, the movement squeezing gasps from the both of them. When he pulled out and eased back in, she needn't have braced herself – the pain never came. Elated, she let her hands roam across his skin freely, spreading her thighs wide for him at the same time her heels encouraged him onward.

This time, he didn't pin her wrists to the bed, letting her touch him, kissing her fingertips if they neared his mouth.

They were still in the dark, but this time, the blindness heightened her senses instead of suffocating her. One day, she would guide him to do this in the light, and she would revel in the glory of his face above hers, the sight of his pale skin glistening with sweat that she had caused. For now, she sought out his exposed scars, accepting the feel of him above her even as her body accepted the full length of him deep inside.

She clung to him after he filled her completely. They could do nothing more than kiss and touch for long moments until she began to squirm under him, needing movement. The pressure was building once again, and her body moved of its own accord, seeking friction, wanting the glide of him against her.

He obliged. He sucked on the pulse point in her neck as his hips began to move. He was tentative at first, slow, keeping his weight off her, but she still wanted more of him, needed more. She wrapped her legs around him, spoke in his ear, and he groaned at her words of encouragement. She could tell he still feared losing control, but she trusted him, she trusted him with everything she was.

His pace increased until his hips snapped against hers, and she tossed her head in delight. Yes, this was what she had imagined it could be like between them, her body taking what he gave. She could take all of him, wanted all of him, and she feel him slowly give himself over and begin to take his own pleasure from her.

She felt powerful, a feminine match to his dark, overwhelming presence. He could pour everything he was into her, and she remembered that he was the one who had spoken of souls. As their hearts beat frantically against each other, she thought their souls might be colliding amidst the unbearable friction and sweat and pleasure.

Pleasure. Pleasure was building once more within her, her strings being pulled taut. She was already sensitive from his fingers, and the core of her quickly crested over the edge a second time. She tried to scream his name, instead mingled the syllables into her gasps and cries as his own pace increased. Her teeth found purchase on his shoulder, and he growled.

In a furious surge of power, his hips slapped once, twice, three times against the backs of her thighs, and he spent himself inside her.

Long moments passed as they listened to their shared panting breaths slowing. As he stilled and settled his body atop hers, he kissed her once more. Their teeth clicked together as she grinned, and she felt his own lips curve upward.

"Smug, are we, my dearest?"

"Oh yes," she said. She wiggled a little, felt him still deep inside, and relished the breath he sucked in. "I'm quite proud of myself."

His next sound was between a snort and a laugh. "As well you should be." He gave her another long, sweet kiss before starting to disentangle their bodies. He didn't miss the wince she made as he pulled completely out. "Gods, Christine! Again?"

"No, no, Erik," she said, tugging him back by the arm. "It's a good kind of soreness. Just a little." She hadn't been fully healed before, so she imagined this sort of reaction would fade over time. "You were nothing but gentle with me." She eyed him approvingly, knowing he could see it. "And not so gentle when I wanted you to be."

He ran a hand over his bare face, the motion visible against the window. "Nonetheless."

She scooted over to him and put her arms around him, loving the fact that she could press her cheek against his naked chest. "Please, no guilt. I don't feel anything but happiness." She wrinkled her nose. "And I feel sweaty."

"Jokes, Christine?"

"Only because I'm so satisfied."

He puffed a sigh at that, but then his arms came around her, strong and without hesitation. "You are a glorious woman in all ways."

"And I'm yours," she quipped.

"A fact that will forever astound me."

Oh, this, this moment was one she would commit to her memory. Especially because she knew what she had to say next.

"Hey, I'd love a quick shower, if you don't mind."

"Do as you like, my dear." She loved that easy tone he had now adopted, and she dreaded having to strip him of it.

She warned him a moment before she clicked on the lamp on his side of the bed, tossing them both into warm light. For a second, she saw him cross his arms over his exposed body before forcing them to his sides. Smiling gently, she stood in front of him, the dampness between her legs a reminder of what they had just done. She took his face in her hands and kissed one cheek and then the other. The adoration she saw in his eyes almost broke her then.

"After I shower," she said, folding her arms around his neck, "I need you to do something for me."

"Yes, dear one?"

"Show me what's in the basement."

She expected him to protest, maybe even grow angry with her. She hadn't meant to switch gears so quickly from affection to what they had fought about beforehand, and she worried he might think her manipulative. In all honesty, she hadn't meant it that way at all. For a second, she feared he would think she had slept with him only to convince him that she deserved to be part of the conversation. If he could think that of her, he really would begin to storm at her in rage.

Instead, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Very well. You are right – you should know the truth. Shower, and then we will go."

* * *

 **The end is in sight. There is likely only another 3-4 chapters left with the climax coming in the next chapter. I'll be slow to update only because I want to make sure I get all my details right. :)**


	29. Chapter 29

**Onward!**

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

Christine gave him a hard look, still hugging his neck. "So it's that easy?" She had really expected a bit more of an argument to convince him to take her into the basement.

He spread his hands. "I do not want to keep secrets from you. Not anymore."

It really was that effortless, was it? She gave him a hard squeeze with her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly. "I love you."

Disentangling her arms, he kissed both wrists. "Go shower, dearest, if you are."

"Quickly, I promise." She grabbed a change of pajamas and underwear, and hurried off to the bathroom.

All she needed was a speedy splash under the hot water, and she soaped up her body quickly. The unfamiliar slickness between her legs did make her pause, and she felt herself blushed when she thought about what Erik had left behind. That at least reminded her of what she needed to bring up.

When she came out of the bathroom, she saw Erik was still sitting on the bed. He had replaced his black silk pajama top, as well as his mask. However, he had left off the wig, which now perched on the nightstand. She hurried over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist once again, needing to show him how much she appreciated the steps he was taking. If he could walk around the house like that, without hiding his true appearance, she considered that a huge step in the right direction.

She pulled back enough to grin up at him. "We've come a long way, haven't we?" And they had from that first moment when her accidental touch upon his wrist made him hiss at her. Back then, any contact had been a huge deal to the two of them.

Here they both stood – she without her bra and he without his wig.

He ran a hand over his bare scalp, seemingly to remember he was exposed. For a moment, his body curled inward and away from her, but then he straightened and took her hand in his.

"Yes, we have. Come."

He led her to the basement door, his hand cool around hers but the touch oh so welcome. She expected the door to still be locked, but it wasn't – he turned the handle and opened the door without hesitation. A narrow staircase fell away from the door into darkness.

She swallowed and scooted a little closer to him. "A light, maybe?"

"Of course."

He flipped a switch nearby, which turned on a single bulb down in the room below. The stairs were still quite dark, but Erik's hand was strong, his grip keeping her stable as she followed him down the stairs. In hindsight, she probably should have slipped on some shoes to come down here, but Erik also padded down the wooden stairs in bare feet.

For a moment, she focused on the odd domestic pair they made, both in their pajamas and less than half an hour post an intimate interlude…

She had put on fresh underwear, but she could feel a sudden dampness as she walked. Her cheeks lit up as she quickly figured out what it was. And then she wondered at Erik's lack of concern about safety. She wasn't worried about catching something from him or vice versa – she knew he would never endanger her health, and they were both too inexperienced to have contracted anything from someone else. However, how was he not concerned with the possibility of getting her pregnant? He had to have thought about it.

She squeezed his hand as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Hey, Erik?"

"Mm?" He paused to look at her. They were closer to the same height since she was standing one step above him. She loved the way his eyes glowed, especially when their focus was completely on her.

She knew he could see her blushing even in this low light. "We… um, we didn't use protection." There, she'd said it, for better or for worse.

"Protection?"

She could have hit him. Now was not the time for him to be naïve. Luckily, she didn't have to spell it out for him. His eyes widened.

"You are speaking of earlier."

"Yes." Of course she was.

He gazed at her for a long moment, and then tugged her further into the room. Immediately, she noticed a wide assortment of computers and laptops lining the far wall of the small basement. There had to be at least a half dozen computers here, all connected to what looked like a complicated network of cables and black boxes of technology she didn't recognize.

Gently, he turned her away from the computers. "I swear to you, you are in no danger from me as I carry no diseases. As far as any risk of producing… offspring, you currently have an intrauterine implant, yes?"

How the _crap_ did he know about that? Her mind raced, journeying back to the fact that Erik had read her medical files. So of course he knew she had gotten a copper IUD implanted before she began chemo, as an added protection against getting pregnant just in case she ever decided to become sexual active.

He must have read the unhappiness on her face because his other hand came up to palm her flushed cheek. "Please forgive me. We should have discussed this beforehand."

"You think?" She was more upset with herself than him. Her mama had taught her better. "It's okay."

"Is it?"

She turned her head to kiss the inside of his broad palm. "I'm not mad. We should have talked about this beforehand, but what's done is done." She took a deep breath and released it, steadying her emotions. "We've talked about it now, so let's move on." She swept an arm to indicate the spread of equipment before them.

His stare lingered on her for a moment longer before he allowed her to come to stand before the long row of computers. "This morning, one of Nadir's informants told him that several of our mutual enemy had suddenly shifted locations."

"Shifted locations? To where?" she wondered, but dread made her belly ache.

"Boston."

Boston. Where she had lived for years, where her mother often visited and worked. Her thoughts spun. Had they discovered her connection to Erik and gone to Boston to find her? Was she now to be on the run for the rest of her life?

"Erik, my mother-"

"She is safe." He pushed at a computer mouse, snapping the monitor on. Entering a long passcode, he clicked through files and opened programs she didn't recognize. "She was our first thought, of course, but their movements seem to be directly following me to Boston. There is so much activity in and out of that city that we are both confident they have lost my trail. Nothing indicates they have noticed you or anyone connected to you. They have, effectively, lost the scent."

Her heart pounded, and even though she believed him when he said her mother and friends were safe, she still worried about this new activity. "This is what you and Nadir were doing all day?"

He nodded. "That, and placing tracers on the most prominent members of the group. We have watched some of them for years, but we have now widened our survey of them." He stepped back so she could see the computer monitor.

It was a map of the world with every country's borders brightly outlined. Several dozen points were marked on the map in an intense, glowing red. As she watched, a couple of those red dots shifted a tiny margin across the map.

"Those are the men who hunt you?" she asked, strained.

"The remaining ones, yes. They are mostly men, mostly from Daroga's home country, and all of them carry a blood debt to track me down. Over time, they might have forgotten that I murdered their shah – he wasn't much loved, anyway. However, they never will forget that I took their wealth from them."

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "Why don't you just give it back?"

"I doubt it would now be that uncomplicated."

She wasn't so sure, but she held her tongue. She doubted Erik welcomed her criticism on this, and when she had come along on this journey with him, she had vowed to accept his decisions on these matters.

"You should have just told me, Erik. Shutting me out like that, locking the door – I didn't know what to think."

He at least seemed a bit uncomfortable about his and Nadir's behavior that day. He shifted on his bare feet and ran a long-fingered hand over the sparse springs of his hair. "I cannot apologize for that. We did what we thought was best, and this meant seeking to control the situation as quickly as possible. We needed information, and we had to seek out every angle to ensure that your companions are safe. We couldn't do that with you in our midst."

She frowned, rubbing her arms against the chill of the basement. "I didn't know you thought so little of me."

"Christine," he said, his pale neck flushing a little in the low light. "That is not at all what I meant."

"Isn't it?" she asked bitterly. "You thought I would get hysterical, and therefore get in your way."

When he came over to her and wrapped her arms around her, she thought about jerking out of his grasp. However, she wanted that embrace from him. She was still shaken up from the very idea that these men had gone to Boston while trying to find Erik. Boston was a large city, of course, but the thought scared her. She could never forgive herself if Meg or her mother were hurt – or worse – because of her.

He took a step back and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She didn't see any anger from him, but rather a calm surety that he had done what he should have for the greater good. His reaction extinguished any argument she felt welling up inside her.

"Do you not trust me, dearest?"

Her first response was yes, of course, but she checked herself. _Did_ she trust him? She argued with him over every little thing, often thought her own judgment was better than his. She knew with all her heart that Erik's greatest priority was her safety, so why couldn't she let go of control when he needed her to?

"I want to," she said. "I've had to take care of myself for so long, maybe I struggle with trusting anyone."

His head tilted a bit to the side, considering. "In this, we are both alike."

The realization comforted her, however. It explained a lot about both of them.

Erik drew her close to him, his arms sure and strong, enfolding her against his chest. She sighed against the silky touch of his shirt. "In this, at least, trust me. All is well."

"Nadir still had to leave?"

"Indeed. He can better access his contacts while in Paris, and he will also check in with both your mother and Megan Giry. Discreetly, of course."

She returned his embrace, hugging him back. "Okay, I'll trust you. But you need to trust me to handle this stuff, too, okay?"

She felt him nod against the top of her head. The weight of the long day, and the fact that it was now the middle of the night, began to catch up with her. A yawn brought tears to her eyes, and Erik immediately began to lead her to the stairs.

Despite the agony of waiting around all day, and the news of these dangerous men growing closer to those she loved, Christine felt more at peace than she had since leaving Boston. Everything seemed to be clicking into place – at least, almost everything. Her relationship with Erik only grew stronger, and they were able to have conversations about these heavy topics without either of them blowing up and stalking out of the room.

Better yet, as they walked back to their shared bedroom hand in hand, Christine remembered what had happened just before they had headed down to the basement. The sheets of the bed were rumpled, and Erik's wig still lay on the nightstand. She paused inside the doorway, then tugged him forward, unable to hide her grin.

He joined her in the bed without wavering, and she didn't let go of him the entire time as they settled under the blankets. She faced him and tapped her fingers against the cheek of his mask. Silently, he slid it off and placed it next to his wig, and she didn't comment on how quickly he pressed that side of his face against the pillow as he turned toward her again.

They kissed, slow and without the pressure of the outside world, without the worry of the future. That could all come later. For now, she would focus on his mouth on hers, on the thinness of his cool lips that spread into his deformity, on how much she loved how he kissed her with the utmost care and attention to every detail.

She would focus on his hands that crept under her nightshirt and fanned across her back, stroking her skin aflame once again. Those talented hands touched and pressed, stirring a new ache between her legs. She arched against his touch, silently urging him to continue, struggling to stop her own moans and failing, but those noises from her seemed to encourage him to slip his fingers into other dark places, and she panted and licked at his lips until his tongue met hers.

Only when she clutched at his shirt in desperation did he finally ease himself on top of her, his heavy welcoming weight pressing her into the mattress. Their clothing parted enough for them to be joined, and she welcomed him into her once again.


	30. Chapter 30

**Oh lordy, has it really been TWO WEEKS since my last update? I'm so sorry, loyal readers. This chapter gave me fits and went through several drafts before I finally decided to throw it out there for you. On the plus side, it's all downhill from here. :) Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

She woke to warmth at her back. A steady tickle of breath fanned the hair falling across the back of her neck, and she shivered a bit at the sensation. Erik's arm was thrown over her ribs, his palm large and heavy across the upper portion of her opposite arm. His other arm was tucked under her pillow somewhere above her head.

She lay still, not wanting to move. After a few moments, she realized his breathing hadn't changed from that rhythmic in and out she felt now.

He was asleep.

She had only ever seen him sleep that once, the night he had arrived at her apartment in Boston after spending the journey across the ocean in a shipping container. He had woken so easily from her slight touch, so there was no way that she was going to prod him awake now. This moment was too precious for her to break.

The house was quiet. She remembered the fact that Nadir had fled in the middle of the night back to Paris, and she and Erik were alone. Guilt rose up in her for a brief second until she pushed it aside. She hadn't asked Nadir to buy her that cruise ticket using his own funds, and in any case, at least he was returning to his own life instead of hiding here with them.

Hiding. Now that those hunting Erik were shifting and moving across the globe, she supposed they might have to stay here in Saint-Ursanne even longer than first expected.

Erik shifted a bit at her back, his arm tightening around her. Would living in close quarters with this man be so bad anyway? They had never existed separately for long anyway – she had first stayed at his home underneath the opera, and then he had stayed at her apartment in Boston. On the _Queen Eleanor_ , they had shared a room. Under any definition, they had been living together off and on during this past month anyway.

She heard the purr of his voice awakening as he stretched further. His bare face pressed into the back of her hair, and his steady breathing changed to one of inhalation, taking in the scent of her shampoo.

"Good morning," she whispered, one of her hands coming up to lightly run her fingers up and down his silk-clad arm.

His mouth found the shell of her ear through her hair and kissed it. "Indeed."

She shivered. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did. And you?"

"Like a rock." Inwardly, this conversation made her smile. What a normal exchange between them.

His arm, as always corded with muscle, pulled her against him. She could feel him rousing against her upper thigh. The arm nestled under her pillow slid down to wrap around her from the other side until she was cocooned, his body a firm line behind her.

"A man could grow used to waking like this."

She did smile then, though she was facing away where he couldn't see it. "A woman could as well."

Already, she felt more stirrings of desire. She had lived for so long without any kind of contact, and now that she'd had it, she felt herself craving more and more. Did he feel the same way? From the way his hips canted against her backside, she guessed he did.

His arm that rested atop her drifted back so his hand cupped her hip. "Christine…"

She resisted the urge to press back against him. "Y-yes?"

His hand found the bottom edge of her nightgown, brushed over the naked skin of her thigh. She held her breath as he continued round her leg and located the apex of her thighs, ghosted his fingertips across her sensitive skin.

She felt his words, his breath hot against her hair and neck. "I wish to have you again, my lovely Christine."

"Y-yes," she responded again, unable to say more, too focused on one of the cool pads of his fingers sliding up and down her.

"I fear, however…" He trailed off, his finger slow and driving her insane. "Too much, too soon."

Ah, she knew what he meant. Even though his touch was tender, she could tell she was sore.

"Later?" Her voice cracked on the word.

In response, he again hugged her tightly to him, and she thought her heart would burst of contentment and love for him. This was the sort of moment she had followed him here in order to experience, the hope of a life together that could be filled with tenderness and companionship.

"Do you have many plans for today?" she asked.

"After what happened yesterday, and my prolonged absence, I had planned on discovering what _you_ wanted to do."

She smiled even though he couldn't see it. "Breakfast, horses, lunch, reading, singing, dinner, a walk. Not that I've been thinking about it at all."

"In that order, hmm?"

"I can be flexible!"

He rose up on an elbow, gently pushed her onto her back so he could peer down at her. Although his unmasked face was smooth and calm, she could see the worry darkening his golden irises. "Will this life suit you, dearest? There is little else to do here."

She reached up and cupped both sides of his face, brushing her thumbs over one smooth cheek, one rough with deformity. " _You_ suit me."

His eyes widened slightly. "Ah Christine, lovely Christine, I can never deserve you."

She didn't reply, didn't need to argue with him. She had already made her point clear on that sort of topic by just _being_ here, in this bed, in this country, with him. He bent and kissed away her frown, relaxing her suddenly pursed lips.

Their chaste kiss didn't progress further than that. He held her for a long time, and she was content to lounge in bed for as long as he liked, but soon her stomach growled for food.

They dressed, and she didn't comment on the fact that he went into the bathroom to change privately, nor on the fact that he put his wig and mask back on. She had plenty of time to convince him the disguise wasn't necessary around her.

The morning went the way every morning would during the upcoming weeks. Rarely did he rise before her, even if he usually woke first. He would pull her into his arms while she was still heavy with sleep, sometimes seducing her with fingers and lips until she urged him atop her, sometimes merely holding her until she squirmed for food and coffee.

They sat at the kitchen table together, him with his tea and she with her coffee, which he had perfected after the first few tries. Since she couldn't speak or read any of the four official languages of Switzerland, he often read translations from several newspapers to her, which helped her immensely with feeling connected to the rest of the world. Besides, he didn't seem to mind reading to her, and she adored the sound of his voice.

After breakfast, they went out to take care of Caesar and Magikos, and they would do this every morning from then onward. The first time, Erik held her hand in his and raised her fingers for Caesar to sniff, the great horse's chuffing breath hot and wild. After that, however, Caesar seemed to accept her, at least when Erik was around, and over time, she was able to brush him without fear of his hooves or teeth.

The rain of yesterday had vanished, and Erik offered to take her on a ride. She had never ridden a horse, so she was nervous about doing so. At first, he had pulled her astride Caesar, in front of him, and while she had enjoyed the feel of him behind her, Caesar seemed to take offense at being ridden double. He stamped his feet and refused to acquiesce to Erik's commands without arguing.

Christine slid off Caesar, and Erik readied Magikos instead. Once she settled onto the beautiful brown horse, she understood why Nadir loved this beast. Magikos was truly gentle with her, following her lead with little prodding.

Erik took her around the property, pointing out how many acres he owned, and how far she could travel before venturing into someone else's territory. The air around them was cool after yesterday's storms, but the sun warmed her face – the perfect weather to enjoy outdoors. Erik looked magnificent clad in black on his midnight horse, riding with perfect surety. His formal clothing looked a bit out of place in the rolling hills and tall trees of the Swiss countryside, but he was _hers_ , and he was out of the house with her, and she loved him all the more.

She laughed, feeling radiant, in a way she hadn't in a long time. She felt Erik's gaze on her, and met his stare with her own wide grin, now smug as his own lips curled upward in response.

"Perhaps we need daily rides, beloved?" he inquired.

The new endearment added a blush to her already flushed cheeks. "I would love that, Erik!"

And so began yet another addition to their routine. After their ride, and after they had tended to the horses, they would wash up and enjoy lunch together, provided by the ever-present delivery from Saint-Ursanne.

Later that first day spent alone together, Erik mentioned that he needed to venture back to the basement to check on the movement of the men he was tracking. The thought made Christine's stomach knot with worry, but she had to learn to trust Erik with this sort of thing if ever they were going to move forward.

She did, however, want to join him.

"Certainly not," he had protested at first, as he cleared the table of the remains of their lunch. "I let you accompany me once, but that is enough. These topics are not meant for one such as you."

She jutted out her chin. "I'm not that innocent, Erik, not anymore." Of course she wasn't. Hadn't she watched him kill a man right in front of her? Hadn't she tended to his wounds herself? In many ways, she was less innocent than she'd been before meeting him.

His jaw clenched in that way she knew meant he was growing angry with her. "Stubborn girl."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Stubborn _partner_."

His mouth opened before snapping shut as he thought better of his next comment. Finally, he puffed a sigh. "Touch nothing."

"Got it."

Keeping her end of the bargain, she had touched nothing in the basement, at least not at first. She typically perched on a nearby chair and watched him with interest. He spent his time typing quickly at various keyboards or flitting from one open screen to another.

His focus on this matter fascinated her, though he always left the basement in a worst mood than when he went in. Apparently, the men he tracked were constantly on the move, and he told her that his results showed they were strengthening in response to what had happened in New York. As the weeks went on, Erik took to grabbing his temples in frustration or growling at the data he studied. Once, he even smashed one of the computer monitors.

On the positive side, a week into these trips into the basement with him, Christine discovered that the safe house did indeed have a phone.

The phone was one of those that fed through the computer, and she supposed this was to prevent any sort of tracing. While she knew Erik wouldn't allow her to call her mother or Meg, he might at least be willing to let her talk to Nadir.

To her surprise, he immediately gave her the number to call, and she almost shrieked with delight when she heard Nadir's warm baritone answer. They exchanged pleasantries, and then she raised an eyebrow at Erik, wanting privacy. Again, he gave it without arguing, only mentioning that he would know if she dialed any other number, and that he trusted her not to endanger them both.

She could have rolled her eyes at that, but she knew how seriously he took her safety.

"Now I'm alone," she told Nadir after she heard the door shut above her.

"Needing to get away from our mutual friend already?" Nadir asked, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"I can't talk with him hovering over me. But overall, it's been a fantastic first week!"

"I am glad to hear it. I did worry about leaving so quickly."

She settled into a nearby chair, twisting the phone's cord around her fingers. "The time together has been good for us, Nadir. I miss my mom, and my friends, of course, but I can't imagine being anywhere else right now." She let the end of her sentence hang in the air for a moment. _Right now_ , everything was just fine.

"Even so, I do apologize for not even saying goodbye."

"I understand why."

"You seem well – how is Erik?"

She told him about how they had fallen into a routine, which she didn't mind at all. She wasn't that spontaneous of a person anyway, and Erik seemed to thrive on their new habitual schedule. His moodiness had all but vanished, except when in the basement.

After a few more weeks had passed, and although she would _never_ mention it to him, she noticed that Erik had put on some weight. His good cheek was no longer so hollow, his skin merely pale instead of sickly, and his taut stomach was flat rather than concave when they lay in bed together.

She told Nadir about this during one of their phone conversations. They now spoke almost every day, much to Erik's annoyance at first. After he saw how much joy being able to speak to someone else brought her, he stopped sulking about it.

"He is eating more, then?" Nadir asked.

"Two meals a day, in fact," she replied, beaming though he couldn't see it. Indeed, although Erik never ate breakfast, he had taken to joining her for both lunch and dinner. He still ate very little, small bites here and there, but she enjoyed every moment of sharing a meal with him.

"The fresh mountain air must be doing him some good," Nadir said, his voice sly. "Or maybe it's you."

She just laughed and directed the rest of the conversation to talk about what Nadir was up to in Paris.

But really, she _could_ tell a difference in Erik. He spent much of his time in the afternoons working on his music, and while he often wouldn't let her hear a work in progress, the bits she did hear were beautiful. As always, his music mirrored his mood, and therefore, he must be feeling pretty good about how things were going.

On top of that, they had begun Christine's singing lessons once again. After several weeks of no singing, she had grown a bit rusty, but he sent her into drills for days before he let her near an actual aria. The last time she had sung for him had been that disaster in New York when she had rejected the song he had written for her. She still felt guilty about that time, though looking back, she was still not sure she could have performed it for him.

Erik was an excellent music tutor. He was always firm, correcting her without emotion or hesitation. She did appreciate the toughness; she _wanted_ to get better. After a few weeks, the compliments started up, and she knew she was improving.

She didn't even really need the comments he made to discern how she was doing. The warmth in his gaze while she sang told her everything.

He let her try all sorts of different pieces, only when he though she was ready, of course. Some days, he cut their rehearsals short just so she could practice speaking other languages, especially Italian.

"If you want to be believable on stage, my dear," he said one evening, a cold September rain pelting against the windows, "you must be able to speak the language as well as sing it."

But she struggled more with pronunciation than with singing, which flowed from her easily. "Singing comes from somewhere deep inside me," she said, sighing. "But speaking comes from my tongue, and that gets all twisted when I try."

To her surprise and delight, he leaned forward and kissed her. He wore his full regalia, like he almost always did during the day, but he didn't protest when she nudged his mask slightly to the side so that the rest of his mouth was free. She felt the slickness of his tongue probe along her bottom lip, and she parted her lips to meet him with her own.

He stroked her face as he pulled back, readjusting his mask as he did. "The problem is hardly your tongue."

At this, her face blossomed into a deep blush. After all these weeks, after so much time spent in his bed, he could still say something that made her redden.

"I-It isn't?"

"Speaking should come from deep within as much as singing does. You must pretend that you know what you are doing, and eventually, your tongue will believe you do."

"Fake it until you make it, huh?"

"Precisely."

She tried again the line she was trying to read, and then again. She pretended she was the woman speaking those lines, enveloped herself in the character and the scenario. And by the fourth try, the words flowed more easily. She grinned at him, and his own answering smile, however small, dazzled her.

* * *

After about a month of being shut in, Christine decided to ask Erik if she could venture into the town of Saint Ursanne on her own. After all, the town was tiny, remote, and mostly not explored by outsiders. She yearned to do more than take walks or ride the trails on horseback, and while she wasn't asking to get away from Erik, she wouldn't mind a little time to herself either.

The first time she asked, he frowned and maneuvered the conversation back to the aria she was working on.

The second time, he walked away, off to the kitchen, and brought her back a plate of chocolates she liked. They had been delivered just that afternoon after she had asked for something sweet. She glowered at him but ate three anyway.

The third time, he sighed – yes, _sighed_ – at her and asked why. This was at least an improvement, and she already had her argument ready. He then proceeded to pick apart every one of her reasons until she had to dash off to the bedroom before he saw her tears.

But she didn't have to ask a fourth time. He followed her upstairs and watched her lay face-down on the bed to hide her hurt. She felt the bed sag as he sat next to her.

"You will want to leave," he said quietly.

"What?" She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve and rolled a bit to catch a glimpse of him. He rested elbows on his knees, hand dangling loosely. He was turned away from her, but she could see his despondent mood within the slope of his broad shoulders.

"My lovely Christine, you charm others easily. No doubt, over time, you could grow to make friends here."

"I would like that," she said, hating the quiver in her voice. She wasn't lonely, truly lonely the way she had been before meeting Meg. But she missed interacting with others even though she wasn't a very social person by nature. The reality was, she probably just missed _Meg_ , but she wasn't about to tell Erik that.

"Once you meet others," he continued, "what then? What if they want to meet your shut-in lover?"

The term made her ears burn, but she ignored her flare of embarrassment. That's what they were, after all, and she was thrilled to hear him speak of it aloud.

He glanced at her, and then gestured at his mask. "You could not bring them here, and they would suspect why because by nature, humans are a curious creature. Eventually, you might tell them."

She pressed her lips together. "I'm better at secrets than that, Erik."

"And so you are. Therefore, you will be confronted with the reality of your life here. And that is when you will leave."

"No way." She sat up and hugged him from behind, looping her arms around his neck. "You will have to trust me, my love, like in all the ways you've learned to trust me these past weeks. You can't keep me shut up in this house forever."

"Yes, I can," he said, but she heard the petulant tone in his voice, and she knew he was cracking.

"This town is safe, right? And I would never jeopardize what we have here."

"I know." He clasped her arms, then tugged her around him until she sat across his lap. He buried his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder. "I would give anything for your happiness. Even this."

And so he let her go.

He was wrong about making friends. She didn't speak the language, couldn't much relate to the older crowd that lived here. While she smiled and said greetings in French to those she passed, and ordered items at the café, she didn't find much of anyone to form a friendship with. However, for a while, she was content to wander about, studying the medieval buildings, visiting the art museum, sampling the local food, shopping for meals she could cook herself.

He was wrong that giving her more freedom would make her want to leave. If anything, being around others made her realize just how comfortable she was around Erik now. They were in sync with each other, their lives lined up parallel as though they had always existed side by side. Even their fights ended more quickly now, their differing opinions smoothed over with practiced ease.

But he was right about one eventuality. A few weeks after her newfound freedom, she _would_ be confronted with the reality of her life here, unrelated to anything she found within the town of Saint-Ursanne.

Erik himself would force her eyes wide open.

* * *

 **I did warn you! With the next update, this fic officially goes to Mature. You can thank me later. ;)**


	31. Chapter 31

**This chapter is rated M for MATURE.**

* * *

 **Chapter 31**

It was October 11th, and it was her birthday.

Christine wasn't usually one to get excited about her own birthday, at least not until she got cancer. Her mother didn't put on a big production about the day, and she didn't often have many friends to help her celebrate. Cake and maybe a movie, with a present or two, were how she rocked the day.

After her diagnosis, her mother made a big deal about the first birthday that passed. Christine supposed she understood why – for a while, she hadn't been sure what her future would look like, or if she even would _have_ a future.

This was her first birthday post the whole debacle, diagnosis, treatment, surgeries, recovery. She was completely healed, at least as much as she would ever be, and she could finally start thinking about where her life was headed.

She was turning twenty-five, a quarter of a century old. Here she was, living with the first man she had ever loved – the _only_ man she wanted to ever love – in house together in another country, for goodness sake! She felt more like an adult than ever, even though she knew over time she should start looking for some kind of job. Maybe in singing now that her voice had improved and she was beyond her mother's control about her career choices?

She woke the morning of her birthday with her mind spinning with possibility. The bed beside her was cold, showing that Erik had been up for a while.

She found him in the music room, plinking away at the piano. He ceased his playing as soon as she appeared in the doorway, still in her rumbled pajama bottoms and t-shirt, the sudden stillness of his fingers causing suspicion to rise within her. Obviously, he was working on a piece he didn't want her to hear… yet?

His face was relaxed when he saw her, though she saw a glint in his eyes. He closed the cover of the keyboard and rose, crossing the room swiftly and embracing her with a hug that took her breath away for multiple reasons.

"Good morning," he said, his voice carrying an edge of something she couldn't quite name.

"Morning. You're composing early."

"When the music calls." He trailed off, stroking her hair for a moment before pulling away. "You have plans for the day? A trip into town?"

She didn't like how hopeful he sounded. Maybe he didn't know it was her birthday today? She hadn't told him, but he had read her _medical_ file! He should know, right?

"I don't know," she said, trying not to frown. "I guess so?"

"Perfect!" He took her by the shoulders, his revealed eyebrow arching up expectedly. "The art museum has a new gallery, and they are starting preparation for the fall festival next weekend, the one you mentioned for which you wish to volunteer. Spend the day in town, and we will meet together at dinner."

He wanted her away for the whole day? That hadn't been along her line of thinking at all. She opened her mouth, about to tell him it was her birthday and she'd much rather spend the day with _him_ , but she closed it after reconsidering. He must have a new piece he was working on, and that was why he wanted more hours to himself. If she bothered him now, he might very well lose his train of thought. That had happened once before, a few weeks into their move here, when she barged in on him while he was composing with his violin. He had cut himself off, had an extensive conversation with her, and been unable to pick the threat of music back up where he left it. She had felt guilty for days.

Swallowing her disappointment, she nodded. "Why not?"

As she went up to shower and get dressed, she could vaguely hear the piano start back up again.

Was there any way that Erik _didn't_ know today was her birthday? She had dropped hints all week, which Erik had mostly ignored. A week ago, she had even joked that she didn't know how old _he was_ , to which he responded deadpan that her guess was as good as his.

That comment had brought her up short and made her wonder – if he didn't know how old he was, did he even know his own birthday? Unlikely. And if he didn't, how could she dare make a big deal about her own?

Like Erik predicted, the town was abuzz with fall festival preparations. She met up with the older woman in charge and tried to follow her directions the best she could without understanding the language. A few townsfolk spoke English, but she never presumed first that they did.

Luckily, because she was so busy, the day passed quickly. After lunch at one of the cafes, she toured the new art gallery like planned. She also visited the local bookstore and purchased a couple novels in French for Erik to read to her.

Even though the weather had turned cooler lately, she had worked up a sweat. She knew another quick shower was in order before she met up with Erik for dinner. She wandered around the town for another hour, killing time until she thought it was late enough to return to the house without interrupting Erik's work.

Erik had purchased a small car for her to use on her trips into town. She walked the few blocks back to where she had parked the black vehicle, then drove the twenty-minute-long trip back. Grabbing her couple bags of purchases and her purse, she headed inside.

In the waning light, the house was dark. She could hear music coming from the piano room, but she ignored it for now, thinking Erik was probably still finishing up. Heading upstairs, she dropped her things near the entrance to the bedroom and stared at what she found.

Upon the bed lay a white garment bag, several shoeboxes next to it.

Immediately, her mind flashed to those two days in New York. The dark blue dress with the plunging back, the jewels he had bought her, the night that had ended in the worst moment of her entire life. For a second, anger rose up like bile hot in her throat, but it vanished just as quickly. Erik had been so careful with his gifts since they had come here, so obviously trying not to upset her.

She should at least see where this path would lead.

Without touching the items, she first showered and decided to let her curls air dry after applying a bit of cream. Erik preferred her hair down anyway, often tugging the heavy dark brown mass free at the end of the day so he could sink his fingers within. She applied a tiny bit of make-up, then headed over to the bed.

She unzipped the garment bag, revealing a gorgeous dark red silk gown. The skirt was full due to a crinoline built into the several layers of satiny fabric. Like before, he had ordered that a seamstress build bra cups into the front, and the detail brought a smile to her lips. She still stood naked, so she slipped into the dress, zipping up the side seam. The thin straps rested on the edges of her shoulders, the front and back plunging into sharp Vs, though not deep enough in the front to reveal her scars. The bodice was form-fitting until below her hips.

Like the dark blue dress before it, the gown was exquisite and high-quality, and again, she felt rather pretty in it. She chose a pair of rhinestone-crusted, strappy heels from the selection, and sat on the bed to put them on.

That was when she noticed the small note lying folded on the coverlet.

 _Dearest Christine,_

 _I hope you will allow me the pleasure of treating you like royalty once again, on today, the day of your birth. Even if you choose not to wear such a garment, join me nevertheless. Please come downstairs when you are ready._

 _Yours, always,_

 _Erik_

She pressed the card to her lips, inhaled the slight lingering sandalwood and smoke that was uniquely Erik.

Then she went downstairs.

She heard the sounds of violin mixed with piano, a combination that couldn't possibly be Erik playing alone. The corridors were dark, nightfall fully risen, but a yellow glow highlighted underneath the door leading to the piano room.

She opened the door and gasped.

Dozens of candles lit the wide expanse of room in warm, dim light, placed on the floor, on tables, hanging from the ceiling. A small table covered with a white tablecloth was set with two place settings. Low music poured from a speaker system near the back of the room. The floor glowed. Christine felt light-headed.

Erik stood in the center of the room, dressed in a modern-cut tuxedo, the black fabric tailored perfectly to his tall, lithe form. His waistcoat was a rich burgundy, complimenting her own dress.

She held back her grin. "I could have joined you in pjs."

"In all ways, you are beautiful," he replied. He crossed the room, his strides graceful, purposeful, self-assured. "And when you wear these clothes, your beauty is only celebrated, not enhanced."

She flushed, her long eyelashes lying flat against her hot cheeks for a moment as she stared at the hem of her gown. She met his gaze again, marveling at the strong emotion she saw in those amber depths.

"You didn't forget," she said.

He scoffed lightly and extended an arm for her to take. "Of course not. I even have a candle for you to blow out later."

She giggled a bit at that and indicated the multitude of flickering flames around them. "I should think so."

He led her to the table, helped her into a seat. Then he uncovered a large dish, revealing a lovely dinner for two. "I made this myself, in case you wonder." He filled her plate, then gave himself a smaller portion. Pouring them both a glass of red wine, he folded his body into the seat opposite her. "Eat, please."

She did, and every bite was delicious. She didn't want to fill up too much in case he had dessert (he did, a fudgy chocolate cake that was so rich that goosebumps rose on her arms). Even though he offered, she declined a second glass of wine, wanting to keep her wits about her.

They talked back and forth, enjoying each other's company after a day spent apart. Now she understood why he had sent her away, so he could prepare for all of this. She waved off his singing, but happily blew out the candle he had tucked into the cake.

Sometime after they finished, Erik rose, crossing to the sound system in the back. He fiddled with the selections, choosing an easy-going waltz full of string instruments with a touch of accordion. She laughed, recognizing the folksy Swedish tune, and took the long-fingered hand he offered her.

"Dance with me?" he asked, pulling her close.

She didn't have to say yes, showing her eagerness by settling one of his hands to the small of her waist herself and resting hers on one of his shoulders. Their other hands clasped together, suspended in the air next to them.

Sensing he was about to ask, she said, "I have a bit of training in all sorts of dances, but the least amount in partnering."

The exposed side of his mouth curved upward. "And I have studied the art extensively, but never had the pleasure of practicing. Shall we?"

The music swelled as he swept them across the floor, the dark wood shining from the candlelight. For all his lack of experience, his steps were perfection, and he glided them both with the same mastery he achieved in all things. She stepped on his toes twice, and the second time, he tossed his head back in a rough laugh that took her breath away. He jerked her close against him and spun them in a dizzying arch that made her join him in laughter.

He slowed their pace, guided both her arms to his shoulders so he could flatten his palms against her back, the tips of his fingers playing with the ends of her hair and making her shiver.

"We need to dance every day," she said, a bit in awe of him.

Suddenly serious, his eyes glittered in the low light. "For the rest of our lives."

Her eyes widened. "Erik-"

"Come." He broke away from her, pulling her toward the piano with one hand. "I wrote a song for you. Tell me what you think."

She followed him to the far boundary of the room, watching as he cut off the music. They both took a place on the piano bench, her at his side. She just knew he could hear the way her heart had started beating furiously.

He began to play, and the song that flowed from him was unlike anything else she had heard him produce. The music enveloped her with its beauty, the notes both light and deeply passionate, rising and falling in time with her own emotions. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap for fear they would try to reach out to him and interrupt. When he came to the last notes and rested his hands on his thighs, she wiped her tears away.

"The melody still needs the right words to go along with it," he said a bit gruffly, handing her a handkerchief.

Shakily, she said, "No, it doesn't. Everything is already right there."

Dropping the handkerchief to the floor, she stood and slid between him and the keyboard, much like she had over a month ago when she had confronted him in this very room. Her full skirts rustled against his knees, folding around those bony points of his legs as she stood between them. Unlike before, when the move had angered him, he raised spindly hands to her waist once again. Were his fingers trembling? With a breathless groan, he pressed his forehead against her chest.

She caressed his head, wishing she could remove his wig and touch his real scalp. She detested these barriers between them. Hadn't they been close in some way every almost every day since coming here? And yet, she had never stood undressed before him, and he had never allowed her to see him intimately in any significant light.

Why was it such a big deal to see what their hands had already mapped?

Now was not the time for such exposure. Even so, she needed to touch him, to see what he was willing to give her of him. Her fingers floated to the line of skin at his neck, continued to his chin where she lifted his face. The look in his eyes sent heat racing through her, and his normally cool lips were already heated when she pressed hers to his.

Instantly, the kiss seared. Thinking for a brief second that the room was dim enough that he wouldn't protest, she swept the mask from his face so she could slant their mouths fully together. He rose to her challenge, meeting her new hunger with his own intensity. She gripped what she could of him, digging her fingers into his collar, grasping the broad lines of his shoulders, sliding her hands between his vest and shirt in her struggle to get closer to him.

His hands dug into his hips as he lifted her, his rising body nestled between her legs, her skirts pillowing around them. The keys of the piano gave a discordant protest beneath her. His mouth broke away from her for a moment as he stretched over her. Swiftly, he had lowered the lid of the piano, and then he was elevating her further, sitting her atop the shiny black cover of the instrument. More notes sounded as her heels found purchase.

She tugged him close again, seeking lips and a dance of tongues. He was already yearning for her, the evidence against her belly, but he batted away her seeking hands. He bent her backwards against the top of the piano, looming over her until her back pressed flat upon the hard surface. Then he began to kiss his way down her body, his lips hot upon her neck, her collarbone, the bottom of the v of her gown in the middle of her chest.

She sighed and whimpered his name, lovingly stroking both sides of his face until his head traveled too far down for her to reach.

"E-Erik?" she intoned, trying to see where he had vanished.

"Hush, my love," he murmured.

His love? He had called her his love.

She relaxed back upon the piano, her heart swelling, her mind unable to still. The ceiling was painted a beautiful sky blue, cast in a sunset glow by the candles.

She felt the bottom of her gown stirring, and Erik's hands found the slender bones of her ankles, parting the hem of her multiple skirts. He pushed the silky fabric up as his hands trekked from her ankles to her calves and lingered there, long fingers curling around her legs that had begun to quake in suspense. Then he continued, ghosting across her knees, and she felt cool air hit her legs as her gown billowed about her thighs.

While his fingers began to dance across the sensitive skin on the backs of her upper legs, she felt his lips upon her knees, and then on the inside curve of her thigh. He coaxed her to open to him, the piano sounding off random tinkling notes as she obeyed. She was unable to see him beyond the piles of dark scarlet fabric, and she twisted her fingers into the silk to still their shaking.

As he revealed her to him, she felt his lips grin against her skin, felt the bite of his exposed teeth. He clicked his tongue, licked the trembling flesh of her upper thigh.

She realized why – in her haste to try on the dress, she had forgotten to put on anything underneath.

In sudden embarrassment, she tried to bring her legs together, but his hands were on her legs, his shoulders surging between her knees. She gasped at the first touch of his lips upon her, kissing her nakedness in ways she had never been kissed before. Even though his lips were thin, firm, they felt oh-so soft upon her tender skin.

A swipe of hot, wet tongue along her most intimate place, and she was lost to his mercies, writhing upon the piano he played as deftly as he played her now. His bare face pressed against her, and her existence centered on tongue and lips, his feasting upon her, her thighs quivering around him, the piano rumbling notes beneath her body as she unconsciously angled her hips, asking for more.

He gave it, a long finger delving inside, curling in that way that drove her to the brink of madness. His unwavering tongue flitted in steady swipes, and she drove herself against him, needing more friction, needing _something_ , and he groaned against her enflamed flesh, and she came in a burst of heat and overwhelming sensation.

His tongue continued to lap at her, even after he eased his finger free. Her belly heaved with heavy breaths, her eyes squeezed shut, her legs relaxing.

His head rose as he cut with his lips his way across the bodice of her dress. She heard the rustling of his own clothing, and then his hands were on her hips again, sliding her across the shiny top of the piano to him. Languidly, she folded her arms around his neck, her knees finding purchase on the bench to either side of him.

Her skirts pillowed around them. His hands were now in her brown curls, fisting great handfuls of her hair as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. She shifted on her knees, helped him find his way, and he slid into her in one unencumbered glide that caused them to cry out in unison.

They moved against each other in a back and forth grind of hips against hips, the friction almost too much for her oversensitive flesh, until he heaved her atop the piano once again and drove himself deep. Her heels dug into his ribs through his clothing, encouraging him onward, and he was bending over her, filling her over and over in that delicious way she could never put to words afterward.

His name was a cry on her lips, and he moaned hers into the shell of her ear. When she felt herself lose control once again, her core spasming around him, he called her name again, a sweet sound. His fingers entwined with hers, his grip tight as he brought them just above her head, his fingers embracing rather than threatening. His lips slanted over hers as he claimed her in more ways than one.

Moments later, their heartbeats began to slow, both of them spent. Erik pulled her upright upon the piano, enveloping her within his arms, still buried within her. She whimpered at the sensation. Oh how she loved this man.

She told him that aloud, kissing her words into his neck. In response, he gave her another fierce kiss, caressing her hair back from her face. Then he leaned back, easing himself from her.

"Your birthday gift still awaits, dearest," he said, a glint in his eyes.

"That wasn't it?" She couldn't help but feel cheeky, her body still thrumming.

He bent and caught her earlobe between his teeth, making her shiver. "Let us clean up. Meet me here in five minutes."

He helped her down from the instrument, making sure she was solid on her feet before letting her go. Lingering, reluctant to leave, she did, heading to Nadir's bathroom further across the house so Erik could use the closer hall bathroom.

In the mirror of the bathroom, her face was aglow with delight, her cheeks tinted pink. She finger-combed her hair, cleaned herself up the best she could, and headed back into the music room.

Erik hadn't turned the music back on. He stood in the center of the room, his gaze turned far away, and he hadn't yet noticed her return. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping the edges of his jacket, smoothing his wig, folding and flexing his wiry fingers. He hadn't replaced his wig, and sometimes his palm hovered just above the exposed skin as if to contemplate covering it up.

She cleared her throat, and he jerked around to her, the lines of his face smoothing. A smile flittered across his lips and was gone as he crossed to her. He seemed… nervous?

"Happy birthday, my love," he said, taking her hands and raising them to press kisses to both knuckles.

That endearment again! She gave his hands a squeeze, about to thank him for such an amazing evening, but she had to swallow her words-

-as he knelt on both knees before her.

Oh God!

He spoke, voice clear and full of conviction. "I love you, Christine."

A buzzing filled her ears, centering on those beautiful words. She forced herself to focus on what he said next.

"I have waited a long time to say those words, hearing them upon your lips and wanting to return them in kind. _Know_ these words to be true, dearest Christine. I have waited, wanting the first time I spoke them to be in a moment when you would know they are true, free from being caught up in any plight. I have known I loved you since those first days within my home beneath the opera."

He shifted upon his knees, in a position upon the hardwood floor that had to be uncomfortable. The amber glow of his eyes darted away for a brief moment, his head tilting to the side, considering.

"Ah, right," he murmured, seemingly to himself, and one of his hands delved into an inside pocket of his jacket.

He pulled out a small black box, and that is when she began to tremble.

He opened the box to reveal a white-gold ring. A single round diamond rose from the center, of modest size. Several tiny diamonds studded the sides of the ring, and designs were etched completely around the setting.

Erik cleared his throat. "I know this ring is a bit simpler, but you seemed to reject my more… affluent tokens of affections. I thought this one would catch your eye." He shifted again, holding the ring out to her. "I bought this using profits from the restaurant in New York, wanted you to know I can provide for us separately from the funds I stole. We can live anywhere, _go_ anywhere, and we can live separately from my past as much as possible."

His eyebrows, one smooth, one misshapen, drew together. He shifted a bit closer on his knees. "I can make myself an honest man for you, Christine. I could be a true husband for you." For a brief second, she saw the tremor in his hands, heard the crack in his normally smooth and composed voice.

He drew himself up, looked her full in the face. "If you would do me the honor of becoming my wife."

His wife.

She beheld the man before her. Her imperfect, beautiful, flawed, clever man. She wanted him with every part of her being, and her heart ached from his words. She had waited patiently to hear him return her expressions of love, and now she had them.

His eyes were slightly widened, white around his irises, as he anticipated her answer. She didn't make him wait long, couldn't do that to him, hated herself for what she would say now.

She took a step back, gave a little shake of her head even as tears spilled down her cheeks in a rush.

"I can't."


	32. Chapter 32

**Ok, so you reacted about the way I expected. :) So many capital letters! In thanks for all the reviews, here is a short but quickly-delivered chapter that I hope you'll enjoy. I'm off on a trip, so it'll be another week or so before the next update.**

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

"I can't."

How she forced those two words out, she didn't know. She managed to squeeze them out past her constricting throat before her tears flowed freely.

Erik was still on his knees, the ring clasped between his hands and raised toward her, a frozen statue on the floor. If possible, his eyes widened further, the only sign that he had heard her.

With both hands, she swiped at her face, then made herself meet his scrutiny. Whatever his reaction, she had to take it head-on.

"I can't, Erik," she said, this time no longer so steady. "Not without my mom, not while we are in hiding like this. How could I do that to her?"

He spoke, breathless, the words coming out more like a wheeze. "Not safe."

"I know it's not safe for her or for us." She brushed away more tears, angry at herself for being so weak, for having to do this to him. "But… maybe later? Would we get married now or wait until later, when my mother can be here?"

"Now," he whispered. "I thought – I thought – _now_."

She spread her hands out, fanning her fingers, not bothering with her tears anymore. "But if we waited, if we could wait, later we could-"

He cut her off, unmasked face twisted with sudden fury. "We will _never_ be free of them, Christine!"

"But-but months from now, maybe a year-"

"A year, two years, it would make no difference. I told you this before – they will never stop hunting me. It will never be safe for us to rejoin the rest of the world in any normal way. Your mother can never-"

She took another step back. "You can't say that. You can't say _never_."

"It is the truth!"

"I can't go the rest of my life without her, Erik. She's the only family I have left!" More tears, the drops scattering across the bodice of her dress.

One of his hands left the ring box and audibly slapped against his chest. " _I_ will be your family!" he howled, his voice echoing in the large chamber.

She couldn't stand to see him anymore, before her on his knees, the ring a shining beacon in the candlelight. She pressed both of her hands against her face and wept. "I can't," she sobbed, words muffled against her wet palms. "I can't."

She heard the pop of the small box snapping shut. She expected him to flee, if not to the piano to start pounding away his anger then to the basement where he could be rid of her.

Instead, she heard him inch across the floor toward her, felt his fingers clasp the hem of her gown. Slowly, the fabric pulled around her legs as he gathered it to his face. She blindly reached down with one hand to touch his shoulder and beneath her contact, the long line of black shuddered. Although her tears still flowed, she quieted her own sobs and listened to his ragged breaths, and she knew her dress would be damp with evidence of his own agony.

She was grateful that he had stayed, grateful that they were both strong enough to remain with each other while standing on this precipice. If they had become this resilient, maybe she could hold onto her hope.

And she knew then what she would have to do.

* * *

Finally, she was able to coax him off the floor. He let her wrap her arms around him in a hug, but he didn't move from his spot in the middle of the room or speak to her again. Selfishly, she couldn't stand to look at him anymore, to see that dullness in his eyes or the blankness of his expression, so she told him goodnight and fled upstairs.

They slept apart that night. She heard no sounds from downstairs, not even music from the piano or violin. The eerie silence haunted her all night, and she slept fitfully.

When she woke early the next morning, she heard nothing then either. For a moment, she thought perhaps he had left the house, but when she peeked outside the door, she smelled coffee. She showered and dressed quickly, choosing the comfortable clothes she knew she would need for today.

Even though they had only spent the one night apart, she missed him terribly. They hadn't been separated since those last couple of days traveling to arrive here, the time between when Erik had reentered the crate on the cruise ship and when they had reached a safe hotel for him to emerge. As she headed downstairs now, she didn't see him. He wasn't in the kitchen even though fresh coffee was ready, clearly made for her. The door to the music room was closed, and she guessed he might be in there even though she heard no noises within.

She tried the basement door and found it unlocked. As she opened it, she called softly to him and heard no response. Flicking the light on, she saw as she headed down the narrow stairs that the small space was also empty.

So much the better for her right now because she needed to use the phone. She dialed Nadir's number, relieved that he picked up despite the early hour for him. She spoke quickly, relaying what had happened.

"Ah, no, Erik," Nadir sighed heavily. "Always wanting to rush headlong into things."

"It's not his fault," she snapped, her anger sudden and almost taking her aback. "He didn't do anything he shouldn't have."

"Then why...?" Nadir left his question unfinished. Why hadn't she said yes? Did she want to marry the man or not? But the answer wasn't a simple one, and whether or not she wanted to marry Erik didn't factor into her decision.

She was tired, so tired of having to explain this. She did anyway and listened as he began to understand.

"Nadir, I need your help."

"He will never forgive me for this." He was right, but she was done caring about the push-pull between the two men.

"Luckily, you are a country away," she said.

He snorted. "With you gone, likely not for long."

She gripped the phone hard. "Are you going to help or not?"

"Of course I will help," he replied, sounding kinder this time. "Tell me what you want me to do."

She did. They spoke only a little while long, the awkward palpable over the line. She promised to call again in a few days once she was settled, especially to give him her new number.

When she hung up the phone, she headed back upstairs at a slow pace. She didn't have much time – the drive would take at least two hours – so she went to the bedroom to pack her belongings.

She left the deep red gown on the bed, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Again, they had experienced a wonderful night together. Again, it had all fallen apart at the end. But did Erik really expect her to marry him without her mom present? How could he demand that of her? Scowling, she stuffed her clothes into her suitcase, leaving anything that wouldn't fit.

Once her suitcase was packed, she shouldered her purse, into which she had tucked the book about opera that she had stolen from Erik all those months ago. Then she made her way to the music room.

She didn't bother knocking. She opened the door, and there was Erik, sitting at the piano. He still wore his tuxedo from last night, and he hadn't put his mask back on. The small table was still laden with her birthday dinner, the food long gone cold. The piano's lid was still closed, and his hands rested on his thighs. Had he been sitting there all night, just sitting?

Tears flared hotly within her eyes again, but she blinked them away. She needed to do this without falling apart.

She imagined that she had the courage to sing him one last song, the song that they had been working on for the past week as she practiced her Italian. She would stand there while he watched, or maybe he would join her on violin, and she would sing "Time to Say Goodbye" with all her internal strength, with all the talent he had helped her uncover.

When I'm alone

I dream on the horizon

and words fail;

yes, I know there is no light

in a room where the sun is absent,

if you are not with me, with me.

At the windows

show everyone my heart

which you set alight;

enclose within me

the light you

encountered on the street.

Time to say goodbye

to countries I never

saw and shared with you,

now, yes, I shall experience them.

I'll go with you

on ships across seas

which, I know,

no, no, exist no longer.

It's time to say goodbye.

And he would step in when he should and sing Bocelli's part, his angel's voice rising strong and clear.

When you are far away

I dream on the horizon

And words fail,

and, Yes, I know

that you are with me;

you, my moon, are here with me,

my sun, you are here with me,

with me, with me, with me.

And finally, their voices would entwine together, and they would finish their song, the last note ringing in their ears. A last moment for both of them to hold close.

Instead, she placed her suitcase and bag on the floor nearby and stood there in silence. She feared he would treat her the same way he had the first time she had left his home, when he had discovered her sickness and forced her out. That time, he had played wrathfully at the piano, not paying any attention to her even as Nadir ushered her across the underground lake. It had taken her a long time to get over that betrayal, and she couldn't stomach another repeat.

After several long minutes had passed, Erik turned his head to look at her. He glanced at her belongings, then turned back to stare at the piano.

"You are leaving."

"Yes," she said, relieved he would speak to her. "A taxi is coming to take me to the airport in Zurich."

"Where will you go from there?"

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. "I thought about going back to Boston, but I worry that you'll try to follow me." She couldn't do that to him, couldn't force him to spent another eight or nine days in a shipping container. "So I decided that I'm going to travel instead. My father used to tell me that Sweden was lovely in the fall, so I'm going there first."

Silence for a while. Erik took slow, steady, deliberate breaths. "Will you… will you come back?"

"I don't know." And that was as close to the truth as she could possibly get. "Erik-"

"Just go." He lifted a lithe hand, pushed it at her as though trying to ward her off. He turned his face away from her.

"Please," was all she could say. She crossed the room to his side, wanting to touch him but not without his permission. "Please."

Without looking at her, his arm lashed out and caught her about the waist, and she was tugged into his strong embrace, his arms hard with tension, his body vibrating with emotion. The moment ended all too quickly as he then shoved her back, spinning away from her on the bench.

"Leave me!"

She stumbled back to her suitcase, grabbing onto the handle with a jerky movement. "I-I love you," she told him.

She straightened, forced herself to say the words.

"Goodbye, Erik."

She walked out the front door and waited on the porch steps, listening to the snuffling of the horses, the buzzing of the meadow stretched out before her, the rustling of the trees as a cool breeze blew. No music came from the house.

Her taxi arrived a half hour later.

The drive to the airport happened in silence. She stared at the countryside speeding by, a bit taken aback at the difference as they arrived in Zurich, the busy city a shock to the system after living in a tiny medieval town for so long.

She tipped the driver and lugged her suitcase into the airport. After checking in and finding her gate, she set to work on purchasing a cheap cell phone and an international European Union SIM card for it, using the prepaid cash card she still carried.

She settled into a corner of the airport near her gate, staring at the cell phone's screen as she typed in the number she wanted to call. Heart pounding, she listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times before a woman's voice picked up – an answering machine, the message one Christine knew well.

She hung up and dialed again, listening to the ringing tones speed by once more. This time, she didn't have to wait until the answering machine picked up.

"Hello?"

She smiled through her sudden tears. "Hi, Mama. It's Christine."

* * *

 **If you have never heard Andrea Bocelli's "Time to Say Goodbye," it's perfect and just what I needed here. You can find it on YouTube. He originally sang it with our own Sarah Brightman. :)**


	33. Chapter 33

**If everything goes according to plan, 2-3 more chapters after this one, plus an epilogue. Let's see how this plays out.**

* * *

 **Chapter 33**

"Hi, Mama. It's Christine."

She held the phone away from her ear, expecting the shriek that ensued. Once the crying and screaming her name had calmed down, Christine held the phone closer to speak again.

"I'm so sorry," she said to the other woman, who was now softly crying. "I never wanted to upset you like this."

"Chrissie, where have you _been_?"

Christine bit her lip. "I can't tell you. Remember, I said that in the letter. That I couldn't tell you details for a very good reason? I still can't. But I'm safe, Mama."

"Please tell me where you are. Can I come pick you up?"

"I'm, well, I'm not in the United States right now. I'm in Europe." She held the phone away from her ear again and winced. "I know, I know. Please don't cry. I'm okay, everything is okay, all right? I promise."

But everything was _not_ okay. She had just left Erik, had devastated him by her refusal of his proposal. Who knew what he was doing right now, how he was feeling. She couldn't bear to think too much about it. Her own heart was aching, and she wanted nothing more than to call another cab and head right back to him.

Now that she had talked to her mother, what was stopping her? She _could_ go right back, couldn't she? How satisfying would it be to run into his arms right now! To take all of her words back, and… what? Promise to marry him without her mother present?

The woman in question was asking when she could see Christine.

"Soon," Christine promised. "I'm catching a flight to Dad's hometown right now."

"Stay there. I'll be on the next flight out, so can you stay there for a few days? Give me time to meet you, Chrissie."

Christine couldn't ignore the plea in her mother's voice. She longed to see the other woman anyway, and she couldn't see the harm in a brief reunion. "Okay, okay. Call this number, and I'll let you know where we can meet."

Her mom scolded her for all the secrecy, but she sounded more than relieved. After a few more words, Christine said her goodbyes and hung up.

It was easy enough to fly from Zurich, Switzerland to Stockholm Arlanda Airport, the closest airport to her father's hometown. Christine had never been there, but she had seen plenty of pictures and heard her father's tales of where he had grown up to feel like she knew the smallish city.

While Uppsala was the location of Sweden's oldest university, Charles Daaé hadn't been educated, but he had often spoken of the university's grounds and grand buildings. He had also often described the Uppsala Cathedral, Scandinavia's largest cathedral and the seat of the Archbishop of the Church of Sweden. Even after leaving Sweden, her father had loved visiting churches, sometimes taking Christine to whatever holy places he could find while they traveled. She knew she would have to visit the cathedral before she left.

Charles had left when he was eighteen to pursue music in the United States. It was at a show in New York that he had first met her mother, after all.

Even though the plane ride would only take two and a half hours, Sweden was far enough away that she had bought herself a couple of days before Erik could find her. Driving or taking a train would take at least twenty-four hours of straight travel, so she would have time to find a place to stay.

She wasn't sure why she was so sure that he would follow her. He had before, of course, sometime after she had gone home to Boston. However, that journey of his had been triggered by the conversation with Raoul he overheard, and at the time, he had thought she was in danger.

 _Will you come back?_

He had asked her the question, broken her heart by asking, but she had answered honestly. _I don't know_. The house in Switzerland hadn't felt like home. She had only been there because of him, because _he_ was the reason she had gone to that country, lived in that house with him.

 _He_ was her home.

She ached with the realization. She could wander the rest of the earth for eternity, and she would never find a place more suited for her than wherever let her stay at his side.

Her plane began to board the first passengers, and Christine looped her purse over her shoulder. She had to do this, couldn't turn back now. But no matter her decision, someone was going to get hurt. She was so tired of hurting Erik, so tired of seeing that look in his eyes that showed her what her words and actions were doing to him.

She had been surprised at Nadir's reaction over the phone, surprised that he hadn't immediately gotten angry with her for leaving Erik. Instead, he had blamed the other man for her actions.

And she hated that. She was to blame for being unable to let go of her old life in all of the ways Erik had needed her to.

The plane ride was only a few hours, so she spent the time staring out the window in silence. The skies were mostly clear, giving her a view of the passing landscape below. Was Erik on his way to Sweden now? Or was he still sitting in the music room, perched upon his piano bench without playing?

Once she had landed in Stockholm, and passed through customs without issue, Christine paused on the covered walkway just outside the airport to flag down a cab. Luckily, the driver knew some English, so she was able to request that he take her to a hotel in Uppsala, any place in a reasonable price range.

The blast of colder air when she stepped outside took her breath away for a moment. She fished her jacket out of her suitcase and slipped it on. Sweden was more fully in the throes of autumn than Switzerland had been, even up in the mountains as they had been. Uppsala was a gorgeous city, much like her father had described, and here, the trees were already beginning to turn brilliant colors. Brick buildings rose up throughout the city, and she spied the cathedral's gothic-style twin towers before they had even entered the city's central.

The cab pulled up to a small downtown hotel, which seemed perfect. She could walk to get to whenever she needed to go here. Christine thanked and paid him, then walked inside, lugging in her bag.

For a second, she considered the possibility that they might not have an empty room, but she managed to pay only a little more for a single bedroom with a private bathroom. She exchanged her American dollars for Euros at the hotel counter, then paid for a week's stay. Luckily, she still had cash leftover from emptying her bank account in Boston. She didn't want to touch the cash card Erik had given her, saving that for emergencies only.

Or for when her own money would run out. If she was serious about this separation, she would have to eventually think about a way to earn more funds.

For now, she would focus on a shower and crawling into bed. Before she stepped under the hot water, she shot off two texts. One was to her mother, giving her the hotel's address.

The other was to Nadir: _I'm in Uppsala at the CityStay Hotel. I hope all is well with you. If you talk to Erik, please give him my love._ That sort of message might be a slap in the face to Erik, but she couldn't help it. She still loved him without her heart, and she didn't want him to doubt that.

After she showered, she found a text message waiting for her from Nadir. _I'm glad you arrived safely. Use cash only and do not go out at night._

She frowned at that. Nothing about Erik, and only a weird warning.

She quickly typed back, _Ooookay_.

The sheets were scratchy, the bed hard, and she laid there for a while, alone, listening to the sounds of cars on the city streets outside her window. Had she done the right thing in leaving? But if she had stayed, what would have happened? She couldn't have married him, couldn't have taken that step without her mother, but he had made it clear that she couldn't contact Anna as long as she lived at the safe house.

Leaving had been the only choice left to her.

But it still hurt so damn _much_.

* * *

Over the next three days, Christine oriented herself with the city.

Like she had told Nadir she would, she had stayed inside her tiny hotel room after dark, but she spent the rest of the days exploring the landscape that her father had once called home. She didn't know where he had grown up specifically – neither did her mother – but she liked to imagine where exactly he might have lived. In a tiny apartment overlooking the Fyris River? Or in a small two-story yellow house on the outskirts of the city?

She thought about renting a bike. Everyone rode bicycles around here, and even the mail carriers delivered on two wheels with large baskets attached to the front. However, she was one block away from the cathedral, one block from the river, a quick walk from anything she might need. The freedom to move about the city however she wanted was heavenly, even though she now felt lonelier than ever.

This far north of the equator, the days were shorter, and she remembered her father telling her about Uppsala's six-hour days when in the midst of winter. She didn't know how long she would stay here, but too many more weeks, and she would have to buy a heavy winter coat. For now, her jacket worked well during the day, although the mornings were chilly. Every day this week, she had woken up to the beginning fringes of frost on her window pane.

On her fourth day there, Christine explored a bookstore after lunch. She decided to head back to her hotel afterward, stopping for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll, rather liking the Swedish tendency to demand a _fika_ , or daily coffee break. She had learned to love sitting and watching the locals gather over a cup of black coffee every afternoon.

Today, she got hers to go, wanting to head back to read her book. The sky was gray, hinting at rain, and she didn't want to get caught in it.

Inside, she stretched across the double bed, the only place to sit in the room, which was only big enough for the bed anyway. At least beautiful gray-blue wallpaper adorned in white flowers covered the wall behind the bed, and she had a large window with a gorgeous view from which she could make out one of the cathedral's towers.

She was on the second chapter when a knock sounded on the door. She often had dinner sent up to her room, so this wasn't unusual, but she had yet to order anything for the evening. Christine hated the way her heart began to pound, but she had every right to be nervous. She hadn't heard from Erik in these past four days, and only tepid, short messages from Nadir that seemed to be making sure she was still alive.

Through her sudden rise of anxiety, she remembered that her mother was coming in that very day, though in her burst of adrenalin, she couldn't remember if that was supposed to happen before or after dinnertime.

The knock rapped again, this time followed by a woman's voice asking uncertainly, "Christine? You in there?"

Mama! Christine leapt off the bed and rushed to open the door. However, instead of seeing her mother on the other side, she was assailed by a short, thin girl with a head of perfect blonde hair.

"Oh my God, Christine!" Meg squealed, her voice thick with tears.

Christine could only return her hug, and the two girls clung to each other fiercely for several long moments. As soon as Meg let go and stepped back to grin at Christine through her wet eyes, Christine was again wrapped up in a big hug, this time from her mother. She breathed in her mother's familiar perfume and swallowed down her own tears.

Finally, the three women had calmed enough to step inside the hotel room, so Christine could shut the door behind them. The three of them stood there, staring at each other in relieved wonderment, before the trio burst into nervous but happy laughter.

Christine hugged her mom again, then clasped Meg's hands. "Meg! I knew Mama was coming, but you, too?"

Meg's blue eyes sparkled. "When she called me to say you were alive and well, I couldn't believe the good news! I just had to come!"

"But your ballet debut-"

Meg waved her off. "I've had almost no days off since rehearsals started, and we have a couple weeks before the show opens. They could afford to let me go for a few days to find my long-lost friend."

"I haven't been lost," Christine said, frowning at the rhetoric.

The two of them sat on the bed while Anna hovered nearby, clucking her tongue about the sparse hotel room, Christine's clothes, and saying how Christine had lost weight even though she knew she hadn't.

"You _vanished_ , Chris," Meg said, huffing at her. "Almost two months passed without any word whatsoever."

"I-I wrote you a letter. Didn't you get it?"

"Of course I did! But what was I to think?" Meg's eyes filled with tears again. Christine had already gone through this with her mother, didn't want to face it again with Meg, but she could sense that her best friend needed to vent. "All you said was that you were unhappy in Boston, and you were leaving. You said, don't try to find you, and you would be in touch as soon as you could." She balled her hands into fists. "But you _didn't_ get in touch, Chris. Even Raoul was worried about you!"

Christine scoffed at that, but she shouldn't have. Meg's face darkened. "Please tell me you didn't get him involved in this, Meg."

"In case you've forgotten, we _are_ friends. You once trusted me with anything that was going on in your life. What _happened?_ "

Her mother stepped in, sitting on Christine's other side atop the bed. "Please, my darling girl. Tell us what's going on with you. Where have you been? Why didn't you contact us?"

"I wanted to!" Christine didn't mean to shout at them, but her voice rose shrilly. She clapped her hands over her face, ashamed by her sudden hot tears. She felt the two women's hands patting her knee, her shoulder, their arms hugging her close. How did she ever believe she could live for long without them in her life?

Was it truly impossible to be with Erik while also having a relationship with her mother and best friend? Christine couldn't believe this to be true.

They waited for her to gain control of herself, and soon, Christine felt her words rise up. "I wanted to call you both – I really did. But I promised I wouldn't."

"Promised who, Chrissie?" her mother demanded to know.

"Erik."

His name hung in the air, finally set free, seeping power, making everything seem thicker around them.

Meg, ever sharp, gave a little gasp. "The Parisian man?"

Christine nodded. "Do you remember your going-away masquerade party, Meg? Remember the man who kept following me around? That was him. We- we had a fight, and the next thing I know, he was leaving the country. But I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving possibly forever, and so I followed him."

She held up both hands, placating. "Please don't think he kidnapped me or anything. It wasn't like that! He didn't even know I had followed him until it was too late for me to turn around. And once we had arrived in Europe, he did try to get me to go home, he really did. But-but, Mama, I _love him_. I truly do! What was I supposed to do? I didn't have a choice but to go with him if I wanted to be with him."

"Oh, honey," Anna said, patting her arm. "We all make some mistakes when we think we're in love."

Christine jerked back from her, knocking against Meg. "I don't think I am – I know it, truly know it. All of this time, I have lived with him, been with him, and my love for him has only grown."

"Christine," Meg said softly. The use of her full name caused Christine to grow still. "Isn't this the same man you said terrified you while you were in New York with him? I thought you had broken up with him."

"It's the same guy, but he… he has tried to change. That's why he left Boston. He did his best to get away from the situation that was causing him to get into trouble and do things that- that I didn't like." Christine chose her words carefully, not wanting to give away too much, at least not yet. Already, she had said so much, and she feared their reactions if they truly knew Erik's past.

"And he loves me too," Christine added.

"He said that?" Anna asked.

"He did. But even if he hadn't, his actions every day show me. He takes care of me, provides everything for me. He… he doesn't care that I'm a bit messed up." She pressed a hand to her chest, flat because she had taken off her bra and tucked it in the small dresser near the bathroom. "Mama, I don't feel like I have to convince you, but Erik and I… we complete each other. We fit so well together, and we've been through so much."

"So where is he, hon?" Her mother peered about the small hotel room as if she expected the man to pop out of somewhere.

"I left him." God, she was tired of crying, but there were the tears again. "He- he asked me to marry him, and I said no!"

Meg gasped. "Good lord, if you love him, _why?_ "

"I couldn't marry him without you both there. How could I do that? A secret life is one thing – a secret marriage is an entirely different one."

Anna puffed a sigh. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Mama!"

"It's true, Chrissie! If you're getting married, I have to be there." She clucked her tongue again, sounding every bit the mother Christine remembered. "Tell me more about this Erik."

Christine did, skirting around his past and focusing on the man he was today. She told them about his talents with piano and violin, the elegant way he looked when he played, the way he could conjure up new melodies unlike anyone she had ever seen. She told them how he had taught her to sing, and she sang a single verse of _Faust_ to show them, impressing them even with her voice cold and scratchy from crying. For a moment, the remembrance of _Faust_ and all of the memories the opera contained for her made her weep all the harder.

She told them about his physical prowess, how he had defended and protected her, and how he had worked to make sure she was always satisfied. At this, her own mother had at once both colored red and murmured, "Finally, at least there is that," while Meg grinned.

Christine also told them about his physical deformities, both those he was born with and those he suffered during his terrible life before her. While she skirted over the details, she gave enough so that both women could try to understand that Christine was in this for love and nothing else. How could they possibly doubt her intentions?

After a while, her mother fetched her a glass of water, and the three of them fell into a weighty silence. Rain had started to pelt against the window.

"What now?" Meg breathed.

"I don't know," Christine admitted.

And that was when a hard, insistent knock happened upon the door, and all three of them jumped.

"I… have no idea who that is," Christine said, slowly standing up from the bed.

Meg tugged at her sleeve. "Maybe they'll go away?"

They spent long seconds listening, but the rap of knuckles against wood sounded again. There was no peephole at the door for Christine to see who it was.

After a moment, Christine's phone made a sound to indicate she had a text.

From Nadir.

 _That is me at the door._

She could easily text back that her mother and best friend were there, and that now was a _really bad_ time. If she wanted to keep those two parts of her life separate, now was the time to make that decision. But she was so _tired_ of lying and covering up the truth, of giving partial information or running away from _anything_.

She walked over to the door and opened it.

Nadir stood there with a small traveling bag, his long coat dripping rainwater.

She raised an eyebrow at him, well aware that the two women behind her were wide-eyed and listening to every word. "Why are you wet?"

"I had the cabbie drop me off several blocks away."

"Paranoid, as always, Nadir?"

"I'm afraid I have every right to be, Christine." He peered over her shoulder. "Is this... should I come back later?"

She heaved a sigh and stepped aside. "Nadir, this is my mother and my best friend, and I'm so tired of secrets. Anything you need to say to me about Erik, you can also say in front of them."

He gave her a long, measuring look, his brown eyes warm as always. For a second, she thought he might step away, to decide that there was no way he was bringing two more people into whatever mess he was about to drop on their laps. She found she was holding her breath.

Anna said slowly, "Hey, aren't you… Christine's professor?"

Nadir stepped into the room, white teeth flashing as he smiled in greeting, his hand raised to shake hers. "I believe we have met before, but that was a long time ago, and under false pretenses. My name is Nadir Khan, and I am a friend of Erik."

As Christine closed the door behind him, she knew they were in for a long night. She helped him out of his coat and set his bag to the side. "Might as well explain from the beginning, Nadir," she said, giving him an approving nod. "Tell them about the first day we met."

He grimaced, clearly remembering the near-strangling Erik had given him. "Is this the road you really want to go down?"

She couldn't help it. She stepped closer to him and gave him a big hug, so happy to see him again after so many weeks.

"I'm ready."

* * *

 **Erik shows up in the next chapter - promise!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Don't hate me for this. Nadir wanted some screen-time, and the man has been patient.**

 **Chapter 34**

"I'm ready," Christine said, giving Nadir approval to speak openly in front of the two other women in the room.

But before he could say anything more, Anna interjected, rising from the bed to place a fist on either of her hips. It was a stance Christine knew well.

"Listen here, young lady. I don't know what kind of game you've been playing here, but this insanity stops _now_."

"It isn't a game, Mama," Christine said, rounding on her. "I'm not laughing at all about this. I'm being completely serious!"

"'False pretenses?'" Anna repeated, echoing Nadir's choice of words. "Paranoia? Secrets? What kind of mess have you gotten into, Chrissie? I thought I raised you with a stronger head on your shoulders than this. After everything you've been through over the past two years, I thought you had come out on the other side able to make good choices. This," here she pointed at Nadir, "is showing me that I was wrong to think you could handle being out on your own."

Christine didn't even know where to begin. She could feel her temper rising, her face flushing with rage. How _dare_ her mother bring up her illness. But even through her anger, she felt a sharp sting of hurt from Anna's words.

"You don't have a clue what you're talking about!" she sputtered. "You have no idea what I've been through-"

Anna cut her off. "I'm trying to be understanding. I really am, but-"

"If you really loved me, you'd support me in anything-"

"Christine!"

"Mama!"

" _Enough_!" Nadir's bellow took them by surprise, most of all Christine who had never heard him raise his voice to her. Stunned, she sat back upon the bed, barely noticing that her mother had rejoined her so that all three women stared up at him.

"I don't have any time for such squabbling," he continued, still stern but without shouting. "We could all be in danger here, so we have no time for anymore needless fighting! You two may sit there in silence while I talk with Christine, or you _may leave._ "

He waited for their response, and one by one, the three women nodded. His bearded face softened, and he seemed to finally relax again. "I apologize for my tone," he added. "However, nothing you hear in this room may be repeated elsewhere, for everyone's sake. Do you understand?"

They both murmured that they did.

Christine swallowed. "We're in danger?" she said, voice suddenly hoarse.

He went to his coat and fetched a piece of paper folded into a small square. As he unfolded it, she caught sight of a black and white photograph of a young woman in a fancy dress, an expensive cuff around one wrist, a small purse around the other. She was stepping out of a sleek black car pulled to the side of a busy New York street.

Christine recognized herself immediately. She took the picture from him with shaking hands. "Where did you get this?"

"It popped up during my surveillance of… the men hunting Erik." Anna parted her lips to interject, but he cast her a narrow-eyed look, and she wisely thought better of it. "We thought we had covered all of our trails. Darius had no idea you were in New York, after all, didn't even know you existed, so he couldn't have told them anything. All they knew was that Erik went to Le Nuit that night, which is why he was attacked there."

"By only the one man."

"Who Erik… took care of." Christine could tell Nadir was shifting his words, trying his best not to reveal too much to the two women sitting to either side of her. "Who knows how they caught wind of you," he said, shifting his feet in agitation. "Maybe someone at the restaurant gave your description, maybe a server overheard the two of you talking about the opera. However they did it, they figured out that a young woman matching your description had indeed gone to the opera that night. Luckily, this is the only photograph of you they have from the cameras in front of the opera house, and it's far enough away that I hope they can't use any type of facial recognition software to pinpoint who you are."

"But if they did?" she asked, wide-eyed.

His shoulders slumped. "We didn't use your name for anything in New York, but they would have an easy time tracking you in Boston. I did put the cruise cabin in your name so you could pass through customs, and I'm sure you used your own name to fly from Switzerland to here, right?"

She nodded. "I've only used cash since I arrived in Sweden, though."

His rubbed at his chin, thoughtfully. "What about this hotel room?"

"I didn't put it in my real name." She flushed a bit, but she had to tell him. It had been a moment of indulgence, done while her heart was sick, and she hadn't thought anyone would find out. "I checked in as Christine Garnier."

Meg and her mother wouldn't know the significance of that, but Nadir did. He gave her a soft smile. "Not his real last name, but one he often uses."

"What _is_ his real name?"

"By Allah, I doubt he even knows himself!" Nadir huffed a breath, straightening so quickly, his spine cracked. "How much have you told them about your relationship with Erik?" he asked, gesturing at the two women.

"Enough," she said, jutting out her chin.

"Very well. Do you _want_ to marry Erik?"

With no hesitation, she answered, "I do."

"Are you sure? Please think hard on your answer, because I can make this all go away. I can get you and yours back to the States and set you up with a new name and a new, safe life. I can let Erik know what happened, and over time, he would understand your decision."

"Christine," her mother began, speaking for the first time in a while. "Maybe you should-"

Christine held up a hand, cutting her off. She rose from the bed to stand in front of Nadir, looking straight into his large brown eyes. Taking his hands in both of hers, she gave them a squeeze, feeling his callouses from the years he had lived before she'd even been alive. "I appreciate your offer, Nadir, but I decided a long time ago that I didn't want safe anymore. I want _Erik_ , and all that goes along with him."

His warm breath fanned her face as he exhaled. Had he been holding his breath? Was he… relieved? "I vow to never let Erik forget how lucky of a man he is."

She gave a small smile. "Neither will I. So what do we do now?"

"We find Erik." He gestured around them. "Has he come here? Contacted you at all?"

"No, he hasn't."

Nadir frowned at that. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing, Nadir."

The Iranian began to pace, folding his arms and pressing the pad of one of his thumbs against his mouth. She watched him in silence, realizing he needed some space to think. At one point, he lifted the edge of the curtain to peer outside. The slanting rain hadn't let up at all.

On the bed, Meg and Anna sat silently, shooting each other weighty glances now and again. At one point, Christine offered them both a cup of water, and Meg caught her arm.

"You've got to be crazy," she whispered fiercely, her eyes focused on the pacing man lost in thought. "We need to get the hell out of here."

Christine pursed her lips and whispered back, "I don't expect you to understand right now, but if you were able to meet Erik, I think you would. He loves me, and I love him, and because of that, I'm willing to do whatever I have to do."

Still walking back and forth in front of them, Nadir muttered to himself, "The man isn't doing at all what I predicted. I thought for sure he would follow Christine. Where _are_ you, Erik?" He suddenly halted, turning his attention back to them. "I see I'll have to do this on my own."

"Do what?" Christine asked.

"Knock these men off your trail." He bit at the pad of his thumb, brow furrowed. "I haven't many options left to me. I can't offer myself up to them – I have lived under my own name for a decade, so they have always known where I was and how to find me. It's not me that they want."

"They want Erik."

"Of course. Back in Iran, I helped him escape when the situation became too dangerous. The Shah and his supporters had no proof of this, but the suspicion alone was enough to send me to their prison for five years, until their regime finally fully collapsed. In that time, Erik didn't try to free me – he didn't know I was in prison, but they didn't know that. I'm not worth anything to them now."

She thought for a moment. "What about the money? Could you give it all back?"

"Not enough," he said, shaking his head. "They'd never accept that alone now. But I think I know what to do. This would be easier with his help, of course, but I'll have to make do for now. Come here, my dear girl."

She did, standing in front of him. He grasped her shoulders, large hands warm and heavy. "I need you to decide what path you want to take now. Option number one: I buy you a ticket back to Boston and set you up with a new identity. I already have a new passport ready for you in my coat."

That took her aback. He really had come prepared for that possibility. But she was already shaking her head before he even mentioned the passport. "No way."

"I deduced as much. Okay, option number two: You go back to the safe house in Switzerland and wait until all of this settles down. Erik isn't there; I've already checked. But we can meet you there once I find him."

She shook her head again. "I'm not going back there. I don't want to hide anymore."

He sighed. "Option number three: you stay here and wait."

She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, which was still slightly damp around the collar from the rain. "And what if you never find him? Would I wait here forever? I'm so tired of waiting while you two skirt around behind my back. Give me another option!"

"Fine, child! Number four: you help me find him."

This one, she liked. She could already feel herself relaxing, although her body threatened another jolt of adrenalin at the prospect of actually being involved in this plot. Finally, she could be useful. "How would I do that?"

"Erik obviously doesn't want to be found. He's not at any haunt I've searched, and if he _has_ followed you here, he's not showing himself. We have to give him a reason to approach you, and draw his attention to you somehow."

"Aren't you afraid he'll be discovered by the Shah's men?"

"Not unless he does something stupid. The only reason they found him the first time was because of Darius's betrayal. Also, you'll be traveling under a pseudonym." His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I can't lie, though, Christine. This isn't exactly the easiest nor safest option. You'll need to travel about, not staying anywhere for more than a few days."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I already said I'd do it!"

He released her, striding to his coat and fishing out a sealed envelope. Inside, she found a passport with her picture and the name _Chrissie Day._

"I've had this for a while, actually," he said. "Erik insisted, but I never had the chance to give it to you. The name is similar to yours, and therefore, easier to remember. However, traveling around Europe alone won't draw him out, nor will it give him a reason to contact you explicitly. I understand that you two did not part on good terms."

"No, we didn't." She didn't want to dredge up the details again, not after she had already explained her final moments with Erik to her mother and Meg. "I don't even know if he would _want_ to see me."

"Then we must give him a reason. Do you have any ideas? I'm not saying you need to engage in any risky behavior, but he needs to hear about your whereabouts somehow."

But Christine's mind was already spinning with her next plan. From the moment Nadir had said she needed to get Erik's attention, she'd known exactly what she needed to do.

"Oh, Nadir, I know what will get me noticed by him."

"What will you do?" Nadir said, as though afraid to ask.

Her grin contained only a touch of actual mirth. "I'll sing."

* * *

Quickly, Christine and Nadir worked out the details of their arrangement. She would travel across Europe, flying in a set pattern so Nadir could track her movements if necessary. She would spend three or four days at each location, singing at various open mics, most of which she could easily search for on the Internet. Christine and Meg also had different contacts in the theatre world that they could both use to set Christine up with small gigs, such as opening up for another band.

"You should let me take a video of you singing," Meg chimed in. "I could post it to YouTube back home. Your voice is so different now, Chris, so marvelous, that I bet you'd get killer hits in no time."

Christine nodded. "Any kind of online buzz would help."

While they had planned her route, Nadir had been mostly silent. Now he interjected, frowning, "While I admit your voice is beyond beautiful, how do you know this will flush him out?"

"I don't for sure," Christine admitted. "But Erik and I have this… connection through music. If he gets even a small hint that I'm singing in public, I think he will try to listen. All I need to do is get close enough to talk to him, even for a moment, right? I really believe this will work.

Nadir sighed heavily. "Then we need to get you on the next flight to Madrid, using your new passport. You can begin there. Most importantly, you must get far away from Sweden."

Anna stood, her face pinched. "I'm going with her."

"Me too!" Meg agreed.

At the same time, both Nadir and Christine protested.

Nadir held up a hand. "If the situation becomes dangerous, it is much easier for me to make one woman disappear rather than three. I simply can't have all three of you traipsing about Europe, not while things are so volatile."

"Chrissie," Anna pleaded, taking hold of her hand. "You can't really go through with this."

Christine gave her a hug, holding her mother tightly. "I love him, Mama. I can't explain how much I do, but I would never be happy without him. If only you could meet him, you would understand the magnetism between us, how we are drawn together. I have to at least try."

She felt her mom shudder in her arms, then relax just a fraction. "For the first time, you seem like you know what you really want."

"I do."

Meg joined them, looping an arm with Christine's. "Say your Parisian man follows you after all. Say you're able to talk with him. What then?"

Christine looked over their shoulders at Nadir. "That's where he comes in."

"Alas, this is true," Nadir hummed as he shook out his wet coat. "Assuming you are able to contact him, he should be willing to help me. Have him contact me, and together, we should be able to finish this."

Christine was seized with a sudden realization. "You're going after them, aren't you? The way Erik did back in New York."

"We have tried every other option already." Nadir drew himself up, standing tall, looking every bit the Iranian gentleman who once could have led the police force of a powerful, displaced Shah. "They started this - _they_ brought the war back to us. The time for hiding is over, Christine. I hope you can understand that, and, in time, forgive me."

Back in New York, the mere thought of killing someone else had sickened her, even if it was in self-defense, even if the man might have deserved it. Even if the people you murdered were horrible people, wasn't it still murder? However, it was clear to her now that these men weren't willing to let the past go, despite how much effort Nadir and Erik had spent. They didn't want money – they wanted Erik's head, and she would now do everything within her own power to see they never got him.

He was _her_ man, after all.

Her own readiness to let Nadir take these final steps, when she had once had such harsh words for Erik for the same behavior, startled her at first. However, a calm settled about her. These men weren't only just threatening Nadir and Erik, two men she loved. They were threatening her, and in time, they would go after her mother and Meg.

Christine shook her head. "I already have forgiven you."

She wasn't sure if she expected that to relax Nadir or not. His jaw tightened at her words. Maybe he was also realizing the road that Christine was now willing to cross with them.

"Christine," he began, voice thick.

"Hush, old man," she said, trying to keep her tone light. She winked at him to cover up the rush of tears to her own eyes. "What's the final piece in our plan? I find Erik, tell him what you're doing, and then what?"

He cleared his throat. "You immediately get yourself to safety."

Her brow furrowed. "Not Switzerland again!"

"Actually, I had another place in mind, closer to my own home and completely impenetrable. Someplace you have been before, in fact."

Her mind spun. Where was he… _Oh_. "You mean-"

"Exactly. Where it all began."

They spoke for a while with Anna and Meg, mostly making sure the two women were clear on their own roles to play. Anna agreed to go home to Boston, but only on the condition that Christine call her as soon anything changed. Meg also would return to her new home in Paris, and Christine had an especially important job for her to do. Meg seemed more than happy to help her out in this.

Nadir fetched a tiny laptop from his bag. After some time in silence, during which he typed furiously upon the keyboard, he announced, "Two tickets for both of you, early in the morning. Lucky enough the planes weren't full, though I could have taken care of that if needed."

"So soon?" bemoaned Anna.

"Not soon enough," he said, shutting the laptop. "I suggest you both catch a cab back to the airport at once. Christine shouldn't attract too much attention while she's still in this country under her real name."

The goodbyes were drawn-out and tear-filled. Christine had only just gotten her mother and friend back, and now they were about to separated again, this time for who knew how long. But this was for their safety more than anything, and she needed to be able to focus on her upcoming task. She couldn't let them distract her while trying to draw out Erik with her singing.

Christine promised to keep in touch with both, this time from a more secure cell phone Nadir gave her.

Even faced with the upcoming difficulties, she felt like she could breathe a relieved sigh at last. She had given the truth to both her mother and Meg, and both women had come out at least grudgingly accepting of the decisions she had made. She was actually rather surprised that things had gone as well as they had.

But when she excused herself to the bathroom for a moment, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink. Her eyes were wide and red, her hair wild, and she saw what they must have seen.

She was on the brink of a meltdown.

Nadir was still standing in the middle of the room when she emerged. "Until we can get you out of Sweden, I should stay nearby." He gestured at the floor. "Would this be too inappropriate for you?"

"Nadir, you're not sleeping on the floor." She tossed back the bed's covers, revealing the split down the middle. "This double bed is just two twins put together. I insist you take one."

His lips twisted. "Very well." Together, they pulled the twin beds apart, one on either side of the cramped room.

She went back into the bathroom to brush her teeth, wash her face, and change into her most decent pair of pajamas. She left on her bra as well, feeling so weird to take it off in front of him. Of course, this was _Nadir_ , Erik's friend, and her friend as well. So often he reminded her of her own father. Since he had no family himself, maybe they could fill that void within each other.

She got under the blankets as Nadir took his turn in the bathroom. When he came out, he had taken off his button-down shirt and belt, leaving him in slacks and a thin undershirt. He stretched atop his blankets. After a moment, he turned off the lamp between them, throwing them into near total darkness. She heard the sounds of him shifting in bed, rearranging blankets.

For a while, they both laid there in silence. Then, Nadir spoke softly, "I will do everything within my power to see this through to the end."

Her lips parted to reply, but her throat suddenly constricted. Finally, she was able to say, "What if I find him, and he doesn't want me anymore?"

She heard him turn toward her. "Christine!"

"That's what I worry about, though. You didn't see his face when I told him I couldn't marry him. I even tried to explain that I only meant not _right now_ , but he couldn't move beyond my first two words. I worry that he hasn't shown up here because he's decided to give up on me. What if – what if he's moved on?"

Nadir's voice was sharp, cutting through the darkness. "After all of my years with Erik, I can tell you with assurance: he has most definitely not moved on."

"Then where is he?"

"Likely fuming or laying low until he recovers emotionally enough to come after you. You have changed him, my dear girl. There will be no going back for him now."

Nadir spoke with such calm sincerity that Christine almost fully believed him. But as she drifted off to sleep, with Nadir's heavy breathing coming from across the room, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Erik might truly be finished with her.

That night, she dreamed that Erik's white masked face was looming beside her as she slept. The dream was so real, for a moment she thought she could smell his unique scent and feel his overwhelming presence near her bed.

She woke to no sign he had been there, her face bathed in tears.

* * *

 **Buckle your seatbelts and get some wine for the next chapter!**


	35. Chapter 35

**I hope you all brought that wine.**

 **Onward!**

* * *

 **Chapter 35**

For three weeks, Christine traveled.

Often, she took trains, hopping from one rail to another as she journeyed to the next city on her list. Sometimes, she boarded planes when she needed to travel farther than a few hundred miles. The first time her fake passport with her new name was scanned by customs, she held her breath, but she needn't have worried. Nadir's papers had held up easily, and she'd had no problems passing from country to country.

Copenhagen, Hanover, Amsterdam, Brussels, then a flight to Milan, Italy, closer to Switzerland just in case – these had been her first stops, all without success in drawing Erik out from wherever he had gone.

Shaky at first, she had sung. With Meg's contribution of her research skills, she had chosen various open mics or small venues that might let her sing a song or two before an opening show.

In Copenhagen, she had faced disaster – she felt unprepared and awkward singing in front of a crowd when she had never done such a performance before. At least, not as an adult. She tried to remember what being on stage with her father had been like, the confidence he used to ooze as he got up there and performed with everything he had.

The first song had gone badly. She had chosen something indie-popish, for the sake of picking what she thought the young crowd might be into. However, she was greeted with uncomfortable silence and trickling applause for her efforts. Finally, with one song left to her, she decided to sing an aria from _Don Giovanni_ , one that she and Erik had worked on steadily during her time in Saint-Ursanne.

When she finished the song, she was again met with silence, but this time, she looked out into the crowd. All eyes were fixed on her, their eyes wide, their expressions rapt. More than a few of them were crying. That was how she felt when listening to Erik sing, and here a crowd was looking at _her_ like they couldn't believe what they had just heard.

The eventual applause had been deafening. She'd had to sing three more songs before she promised another performance the next night.

Since then, she had sung with more and more confidence. After a few weeks, she found that people were starting to recognize her. She wasn't sure at all how that was happening until she saw the videos surfacing on YouTube – and shared repeatedly with Meg's rather large base of friends.

Christine didn't care much for the attention, but she could only hope that the buzz she was generating in that small portion of Europe would be enough to get Erik's notice. Then her multiple performances in Milan had resulted in nothing but more videos uploaded and shared across social media, and she grew more and more despondent.

What if all of her efforts were for nothing – and Erik hadn't even heard her?

What if he had heard about her, but decided not to seek her out?

Worst of all, what if he _couldn't_ hear her because something had happened to him?

Nadir tried to assure her that Erik had to be alive. If he had died, Nadir said, the Iranian would eventually find out about it one way or another. Nadir was having tremendous success on his end of the plan, and although he told Christine as much, he refused to give her more details than that.

Selfishly, she was more than a little glad for the vagueness.

His daily messages kept her going, letting her know that he was safe, and that she should keep trying. However, after three weeks of nothing from Erik, Christine was starting to grow weary. Finally, she reached a breaking point. She decided to head to Paris for a bit of a pause in her usual schedule. She desperately needed some time with Meg, time just doing and focusing on _nothing_.

A few days later, the two of them sat at a café at a secluded table. The normalcy of hanging out with her best friend was a welcome change, however brief it might be.

Meg took a sip of her coffee. "How about popping up to London for this show on Sunday night?"

Christine sighed. "I could since I'm so close." At the look Meg gave her, she scrubbed at her face and stood. "You're right, you're right. I'll send a message right now to Nadir to let him know."

In a few moments, Christine had bought herself a train ticket to London. She decided to go ahead and head out that evening so she could have time to explore the city a bit the next day before the show.

By the time Nadir replied, she was already halfway through the two-and-a-half-hour ride.

 _Why London?_ his text read. _Not on our list!_

 _Just for one show,_ she fired back. _Relax. I'll be back in Paris by Monday evening. I'm already on my way._

He didn't reply, but she didn't like the annoyed tone in his message. Just before she went to bed in a British hotel room that night, she received another text from him.

 _Please be careful_. _Keep your passport and cash card on your person at all times._

She did this anyway, at his insistence when she had begun this singing voyage. However, she didn't point this out. Nadir had been protective ever since seeing her in Uppsala, and she wasn't going to complain about it.

During the day, she explored the city of London. She had been here before over the summer, but she decided to check out any spots she had missed back then.

At 7:00 in the evening, she went to sign up at the open mic at The Stage Door, bundled in the winter coat she had newly purchased. With November halfway over, winter was almost in full swing for most of northwestern Europe. The skies had been overcast all day, glazed over with dark gray clouds that intermittently spit out cold rain.

She signed in for a spot and was recognized by at least one person at the corner pub. They reminded her of the two-song limit but told her she might be allowed more depending on audience reaction. She thanked them and hurried off to grab some dinner before the show began.

Like all of her shows after the first, this one went smoothly. She entranced the audience with her song choices, one an aria and one a pop song that needed a strong voice. When the crowd stretched out the applause for a full two minutes, she got the signal to sing another song, so she chose one dear to her heart.

"Chandelier."

She missed Erik terribly. She would give almost anything to return to that last day in Switzerland, to the moment she told Erik she couldn't marry him. There was no way she would take back her decision, no way she could have given up her mother like that. But maybe she could have better explained from the beginning and fought harder to get him to see the dilemma from her perspective.

"Chandelier" was the first song she had fully sang for Erik, there underneath the Palais Garnier in Paris, deep within his underground home.

Now, as she sang it to fifty hushed, upturned faces, she did so through her tears.

The ovation afterward left her ears ringing.

Once they had settled down and moved onto the next act, she slipped out of the main dining hall to the outside terrace. A steady rain was now falling, but there were heaters on the balcony, and two large tarps covered much of the space. She had forgotten her coat left draped over a chair near the stage, but she only wanted a moment of fresh air.

The view wasn't much. To the side, a mostly empty London street with a few people hurriedly going somewhere on this Sunday night. In front of her, a wide expanse of dark parking lot that bled into an even darker alleyway in the midst of all these tall buildings. She knew from her earlier walk that there were no cut-through streets on this block.

She gazed into that darkness, and as she did, she caught sight of two glowing pinpricks of light.

Eyes. Erik's eyes.

She gave a strangled cry. Before she comprehended what she was doing, a shot of adrenaline hit her system, aiding her as she dashed from the balcony back inside the pub. She raced past the stage and patrons, fleeing toward the stairs.

Someone called her name - her real name, not the stage name Chrissie Day she had been using – but she didn't take heed. She rounded the top of the banister, felt a strong hand grab onto her shoulder at the same time she jerked down the stairs. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and landed somewhere behind her, and her name was called again, but she kept going. She had followed Nadir's warning to keep her passport and cash card on her body, but her hotel keycard was in her purse along with her cash, and oh god, _Erik was here_.

She dashed out the front door of the pub, the cold rain slapping her face, and ran to the side with the balcony. However, that parking lot was closed off by a privacy gate. She didn't care. Her body was still pumping adrenaline, making her legs shaky and strong at the same time. She grabbed onto the freezing metal bars that formed a small corner at the edge of the gate. Planting one foot on the bars, she hoisted her elbows over the top edge and used gravity to let her body slide over the top.

She spun and landed roughly onto her backside, but she kept going, leaping back to her feet and taking off in the direction of where she had seen Erik. Those glowing eyes were no longer there, and for a moment, she wondered if she had finally lost her mind. But no – he had been there, she had _seen_ him.

Heading off down the alley, she saw that the path became narrower before vanishing into the walls of adjacent buildings that rose at least eight stories above her. She stopped, panting from her sudden exertion, from the enormity of the emotions that washed over her.

She stood there in the near total darkness, the glow of the parking lot dim behind her. The rain pelted her hair and face, quickly dampening her thin long-sleeved shirt.

"I know you're here," she muttered, first to herself. Then she gritted her teeth and said louder, "I know you're here, Erik."

No response from the night. She cupped her hands around her mouth. The noise from the Stage Door was a low roar behind her, and she knew other people might be able to hear her, even if they couldn't see her. Again, she didn't care.

"I know you're here, Erik! I saw you!" She took a breath to shout his name, but a hissing from behind her cut her off.

"Quiet, you stupid girl!"

Oh, that voice she knew so well. Three weeks she had gone without hearing that silky tenor slide over her. Now, she spun around to face him as he emerged from the shadows. Her heart thundered in her chest, but not from nervousness or fear.

The rain masked his footsteps as he came closer. He was dressed in his full regalia. Hat upon his head, cloak about his shoulders, his boots stained with grim, he looked every bit the foreboding Phantom she had first encountered. Rainwater spilled from his cloak, but his wide-brimmed hat protected his mask, which shone bone white in the low beams of a distant streetlight.

"Erik," she whispered.

She was more in love with him than ever.

He walked toward her, his pace brisk, the unmasked portion of his face twisted with what looked like fury. As he approached, not slowing, he bodily forced her back, his chest bumping against her, manhandling her backwards without using his hands until her shoulders met the rough coldness of the concrete building.

A growl emerged from his chest as he slapped two hands on either side of her head, fingers splayed against the wall, trapping her between his arms without touching her. Here, against the side of the building, the rain didn't pelt her quite as hard. Even as he was seeking to intimidate her, he was looking out for her comfort.

His scent enveloped her, the spicy musk that was only him combined with the dampness of too much time spent outside. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face into his chest and breathe him deep.

"Erik," she said again in wonder, staring up at him. "You're alive. You're here."

His amber eyes bore down into hers. "Yes, I am here," he snarled. "You seem more pleased by this than I thought you might be."

She barely heard him. "You're really here. I was so worried! Weeks of nothing, no sign of you, and I had no idea if you were safe or where you were. But you're here." Her gaze roamed over him before alighting back on his face. "And you're alive."

And well. Besides the dirty shoes and wet clothing, he was in fine shape. She had worried he wouldn't take care of himself in her absence, and she wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that he seemed to have moved beyond self-harm when she wasn't around.

She raised a hand and pressed it to his chest, wanting, needing to feel his heartbeat. For a brief second his heart thudded a frantic pace against her palm before he knocked her touch away.

"You may _not_ ," he bit out.

"I-I'm sorry. I understand that you're furious with me. You have every right to be." The words caught in her throat, but she rushed to say what she needed to say, everything she had wanted to say before they had parted. "But you didn't give me a chance to explain, to figure anything out. Erik, you tried to _rush_ me when I needed just a moment to _think_."

"A moment to think!" He shifted his stance, his hands balling into fists as he leaned one forearm against the wall at her head, closing the distance between them. He shoved his face close, close enough she could feel the harsh pant of his breathing hot upon her face.

In less than a second, she could press her lips to his. She wasn't sure at all how he would react, so she pushed aside the urge for he was growling again, towering over her.

"A moment to think, my dear Christine! You had every moment to think, _weeks_ to think about whatever direction we were headed. You cannot stand here and tell me that you had never once considered the possibility of a future between us. You cannot look me in the eyes and say you were truly surprised by my… proposal."

She had been, actually. While she knew he was her future, she'd had no idea that he wanted to go in that direction. Did he even have official documents to be able to legally marry her? Or had he meant in name only? He hadn't given her any time to ask any of these questions, which was at least part of the problem.

She tilted her chin up, not at all intimidated by his looming stance. This was _her_ Erik; she knew more than anything that she had nothing to fear from him. "You're obviously too angry right now to listen to me."

At that, he glared down at her. "If your intention was to draw me out with your voice, you cannot expect that I come to you showing any other emotion."

Yes, she'd expected him to be angry. But his words made her pause. "You figured out what I was doing?"

The sneer on Erik's face was terrible. "My dear Christine, how did Daroga convince you to go on this singing adventure? Was it to lure me out of whatever dark abyss in which I must be hiding? Who set the pattern of the cities you visited – you or him?"

She felt herself start to shake again, this time from her own surprise. At once, she was well aware of just cold she felt, just how much rain had seeped into the tops of her sneakers. And of the confident look on Erik's face.

How _had_ he known she was here?

"W-What are you saying?" she said, pressing herself against the icy stone at her back.

Erik continued his onslaught. "You can't possibly believe Nadir would have sent you on this trek without knowing you would be safe. Without my _express consent_. Because of course you would never choose to leave well enough alone and go back to Boston!"

Nadir _had_ tried to get her, several times, to return to her previous home, even if only to wait. She was the one who had insisted on being involved somehow.

She sucked in a sharp breath, feeling light-headed. "You… you already knew!"

"Of course," he said, his tone triumphant.

They had tricked her, both of them together. Knowing she would likely never consent to run away, they had formulated a plan on how to make her believe she was helping while keeping her safe. All this time, all these weeks, Erik had been working with Nadir, who had spun her lies to make her think he didn't know where Erik was.

Suddenly, she felt like such a child.

She raised her hands and shoved at his chest, which was only a foot from hers. He didn't budge. "How could you both do this to me?"

"I get my way one way or another, beloved," he said smoothly. "No matter what, I will always keep you safe."

Yes, he would. Her mind spun with this new knowledge, but her heart suddenly felt clear and open. Erik had been following her all this time. And even though they had worked behind her back, both men had done so with all the best intentions. Eventually, she would have to move beyond her feelings of betrayal. For now, though, she wasn't going to let her anger go so easily.

She met his fiery eyes. "So I guess this means you've been killing people right alongside him?"

Oh, he didn't like that. His single exposed eyebrow furrowed, his stance shifting again like he couldn't decide whether or not to touch her. Like he wasn't sure if he could stop himself. He did, fisting his hands again.

"What does it matter if I'm the man you want me to be if I don't have _you_?"

Her memory fled back to that long-gone conversation with Nadir before she decided to board the cruise ship and fully join Erik's life. Nadir had told her Erik was leaving and going into hiding in order to try to be the man he thought Christine wanted, to be a _better_ man.

But she realized now that Erik was Erik, for whatever that meant, and his past had finally caught up to him. And if she truly wanted to be with him, she had to take him for what he was.

What was it Nadir had said back in Sweden? _"The time for hiding is over, Christine. I hope you can understand that, and, in time, forgive me."_

And when she had said she'd already forgiven him… When she had said that she was now ready to embrace whatever both men had to do in order to see this conflict through to the end, Nadir _had teared up_.

Because he knew she wasn't just forgiving him – she was forgiving Erik.

 _Erik, you_ are _the man I want!_

"Erik-" she began, the words on the tip of her tongue.

But he cut her off, all but snarling at her. "Not another word, woman!"

Would he even believe her? She had, after all, turned down his proposal. _Erik, I want to marry you!_ her mind now cried.

The rain swelled, drowning out the pounding of her heart in her ears. Streams of water poured off Erik's hat onto the shoulders of his cloak. He made a noise of distress low in his throat, and then his lips were upon hers, his body a long line of muscle and sharp angles against her. His cold lips moved against hers, pressing hard, desperate for contact.

Despite herself, she fed a moan from her mouth to his, the feel of him against her everything she had wanted these past few weeks. He drank her in, took the opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips, warm and wanting.

So easy to let him take from her. But he believed she had left him, he believed they had parted ways, and this kiss was born of desperation, the stealing of one last moment from her before they supposedly parted ways. Now that she knew the truth, what was the point in continuing the charade of singing across Europe? She could so easily slip through his fingers after today.

And he knew it.

She tried to push him back, but he continued to slant his mouth across hers. Even though her hips unwittingly undulated against his, and one foot braced against the wall so she could press a welcoming knee to his side, her mind screamed that this wasn't right until he knew her own truth.

That she had already accepted him, as is. And would _forever_.

In a moment of panic, she did the only thing she could think to get him to back off. She bit him, hard.

He jerked back, their lips parting with a wet smack. She hadn't broken the skin, but the corner of his mouth was red, the bottom edge of the thin line of lip quickly starting to swell.

"S-Sorry," she said, reaching out to touch his face, but he moved back even further. "Erik, would you just _listen_ to me?"

" _What_?" he snapped.

She had to speak louder to be heard over the roar of the downpour. With him no longer enshrouding her with his body, rain quickly began to dampen her arms and pants. Her teeth were chattering, her body starting to shake from the cold.

"Erik, I already knew what Nadir's plan was. I knew he was going after those men. I knew what he was going to do!"

He was back, pressed up against her again, this time gripping her upper arms almost painfully. "Speak!"

"Nadir told me he had exhausted all the ways he could to get those men off your backs, and that he had no choice but to finish it by finishing _them._ The whole point of this was to get your attention so you would help him!"

He visibly flinched, not loosening his hold. "And you have known all of this?"

"Yes! And I support you in this, Erik. I-I want you to help Nadir so you can come back to me, so that we can finally live our lives together in whatever way we want."

Whatever the response she expected, she was unprepared for him to tuck his face against the crook of her neck, the cold porcelain of his mask a shock to her already frigid skin. She held still, not sure what he was doing, feeling like she was being held over a precipice.

Then a low whine began in his throat.

"You are so good, my lovely, strong Christine," he said into her neck. His words were spoken so softly, squeezed past his despair, that she wouldn't have heard him in the rain if he hadn't been so close. "I love you so much. You are so, so good, so deserving of so much more than all of _this_. Go home, my dear beloved. Go home!"

He pushed away from her, launching himself a yard away, a sheet of pelting rain between them. One of his arms swept over to indicate himself, and his face was twisted in revulsion.

"This is not the type of man who should have you!" he cried.

And he was gone in a flash of black cloak before she had a chance to recover, dashing into the deep shadows of the alley and vanishing under the cover of rain and darkness.

She fought past her shock to call after him. " _No!_ Erik, come back! Come back!" She tried to follow, but she found only the high walls of the surrounding buildings. She let out a shriek and pounded her fists against the concrete.

After all of that, she had lost him once again.


	36. Chapter 36

**Thank you SO much for all of the lovely reviews! I read all of them, and they keep me going!**

* * *

 **Chapter 36**

Christine's first thought was to send Nadir a nasty text message, but as quickly as she formulated her plan, she realized that she had left her cell phone in her purse, along with her hotel keycard. She let off a string of uncharacteristic curses, her emotions steamrolling over her.

"Christine!"

Someone called her name, the same voice from the pub earlier. A man was running toward her through the rain, his umbrella a black shape above him. She peered through the darkness, trying to see who it was. She had nowhere to go to escape him, and so she watched warily as he approached.

"There you are!" the main said, his familiar voice cutting through the rain. "I'm so glad I found you. But what are you doing out here?"

He raised the umbrella so it covered her. Her body shook uncontrollably, and her nose felt numb from the cold. She must look a mess, soaked to the bone, her wet hair a curly untidiness plastered around her face.

"You're soaking wet! Hold on a second," he said, laying the umbrella aside so he could shrug out of his own coat. He placed the wool fabric around her shoulders, and his cologne wafted up, pleasant but so different from Erik's murky earthiness.

She recognized that scent, and as she blinked dazedly up at him, she began to realize who it was. The styled blonde hair, the square jaw, the bright blue eyes.

"Raoul?" she murmured. "You're in London?"

"I am," he said, fussing with the coat, pulling it tighter around her. "And now I'm getting you out of this downpour. Come on."

She let him put an arm around her and lead her away from the alley. She wondered if Erik was still nearby, if he was watching this scene. Knowing him, he probably hadn't gone far. Would he follow her? She glanced around but saw no trace of him.

Raoul paused as they arrived back on the sidewalk. "My hotel is just down the road. Where are you staying?"

"Near the St. Pancras Station. Twenty minutes away, I think?" Her shivering was more pronounced – the prolonged cold and wetness had combined with the shock of what had happened between her and Erik. She didn't protest when squeezed her closer, welcoming his overwhelming warmth.

They didn't speak until they reached the entrance to his hotel, the Hampton by Hilton, which really was just a few entrances down from the Stage Door. As they walked the short distance, Raoul pressed her purse into her hands. She opened it and took a sweep of the contents; thankfully, everything was still there.

She hesitated before the double doors to the hotel, turning to face him. "Raoul, I-"

He flashed that brilliant grin at her. "I have to admit, it's fantastic to see you again, Chris." With a warm hand, he brushed wet tendrils of hair from her forehead, ending with a caress of her cheek. "Let's get you dry and warmed up, and then we'll catch up, okay? I'll take you back to your place whenever you want."

She shouldn't be here, with another man. She wanted Erik to be the one standing before her, treating her so tenderly. But she hadn't seen Raoul in months, and his laid-back nature was quickly making her relax. As much as she might not want to admit it, she had missed him too.

It was so easy to nod and follow him. He folded the umbrella as they both stepped through the double automatic doors into the hotel's brightly-lit lobby, and he led her to an elevator. Once inside his room, he went over and cranked up the heat, then found her some clothes to change into: a long-sleeved t-shirt with Boston University on the front and a pair of gray sweatpants.

"Towels in the bathroom," he said, "if you need to dry off."

She murmured a thanks. Moments later, she emerged dressed in his clothes, her sudden weariness overtaking her awkwardness. This was Raoul, who she had known for years. She trusted him not to take advantage of the situation, just like he had never pressured her for anything. Being with him had always been so _easy._

"I ringed for coffee. I hope that's okay. Are you hungry?"

"No, thanks. Coffee sounds great." She perched on the office chair in the room, not wanting to sit on the bed. "Thank you so much, Raoul."

He had towel-dried his hair, which was now a tousled blonde mess atop his head. He looked as cute as she remembered. "What were you doing out there in the rain? You could've caught your death!"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "No reason."

He gave her a studious look, but since Raoul had always been a Nice Guy, he let it go. "Chris, I heard you at the pub. I had no idea you could sing like that."

"I've been taking lessons. What a coincidence to run into you there."

He had the decency to look abashed. "I've been dashing across Europe trying to raise sponsors for my company. Do you remember the one I told you about that makes websites for nonprofits? We decided to go international a few weeks ago, but we need funding. When I heard you were singing here, and London was on my list anyway, I decided to come here."

There was a knock on the door; the coffee had arrived. Raoul brought in the tray and poured them both a cup. She came over to add milk and sugar to her own and took a sip. The hot liquid helped melt the final frozen bits of her, including her fingers, which she wrapped around the china.

She wasn't going to just let this go, though. "You heard I was singing here? I have to say, I'm not sure how. It was kinda a last minute decision."

"Our mutual friend," he said, smiling into his cup.

"Meg!" Oh, she would get it later.

He nodded. "We don't even talk that often, but since I was going to be near Paris, I decided to give her a call. She told me what you'd been up to. I did pester her for information, so don't be too mad at her." He met her eyes. "You've been gone so long, Chris. I can't help but admit that I've missed you."

Her heart fluttered, and it shouldn't have. But she was coming off the rush of her fight with Erik, and a little flattery warmed her further.

The two of them talked long into the night, catching each other up on their lives.

She didn't make it back to her hotel to pick up her suitcase until the next morning.

* * *

Raoul dropped her off at her hotel, giving her a big hug, his arms strong around her. She breathed him in one last time, returned his cheerful smile, and went inside.

After she showered and got dressed in comfortable clothes for traveling, she sent off several texts.

The first was to Meg: _Ran into Raoul – you're shocked, I know! We have a lot to talk about. Meet me for drinks at 5. That place down the road from you._

The second was to Nadir. She had written and rewritten various responses in her head, eventually settling on minimal and clipped. _He knows. I know. I'll be staying in Paris._

As she made her way to the train station, she received a reply from Meg. _I'm sorry but he insisted! 5 it is!_

And from Nadir, almost as quickly, a phone call. She stared down at his number. The last thing she wanted was to talk with him, especially on the phone, about anything that had happened last night, about the fact that he had sent her on a singing tour under false pretenses. She still felt like a fool, and she knew it would be a long time before she could think warmly of him again.

She clicked the Ignore button and shut off her phone. A few hours of silence on the train would do her some good.

Over drinks at a wine bar in Paris, she told Meg everything that had happened in London, including her encounter with Erik. To Meg's credit, she kept silent the whole time, listening wide-eyed and taking large gulps of wine instead of interjecting.

When Christine finished, scrubbing a frustrated hand over her face, Meg released a pent-up breath of air. "Oh my God, Chris. What are you going to do?"

Christine scowled. "Continue to ignore Nadir, of course." Since turning her phone back on, she had received no less than four messages from the Iranian. She hadn't read any of them.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

"One thing at a time." Christine took her phone out of her purse, showing Meg the unopened texts.

"You should read them. Get it over with. He's obviously not going to leave you alone."

"I don't want to," Christine said, but the words sounded petulant even to her. She had had decided to be a grown up about all of this, and that included facing her problems head-on. She was tired of avoiding anything uncomfortable, and she certainly wasn't scared to face Nadir's betrayal head on. "Fine," she sighed, and opened the message thread.

 _I understand why you're avoiding my calls. Please know I did what I did only out of the upmost respect and affection for both you and him._

 _I would never have intentionally caused you pain._

 _Erik let me know he's going off on his own for a while, to fight them alone. I don't have the right to ask what happened between you, but I do need to know: are you proceeding with your plan?_

 _Please reply if only to let me know you are well._

Christine wanted to cry, but she held back her tears. She was done with crying for herself, done with feeling sorry for herself. She was a woman of agency, and by God, she would fight to see this through to the end.

Meg read the texts in silence. Then handed the phone back and gazed at Christine with a rare seriousness. "Reply to him."

"Meg!"

"I mean it. The man is obviously sorry."

"He didn't say that." But she was already swiping open the screen again. She typed, sent the message, and showed Meg the screen.

 _Leave me alone. And yes._

"Happy?" Christine said without venom.

She'd heard the different questions Meg had asked her about the Iranian. The dancer had no small interest in the older man. While Christine wouldn't get in the way, she wasn't about to help any sort of relationship along. She had the feeling that Nadir wasn't as flighty with his attentions as Meg usually was. If her friend wanted his attention, she would have to figure out how to do that on her own.

Meg sat back in her seat, running a finger around the top of her wine glass. "So the yes… that's to this plan he's talking about?"

"Yep."

"Which is… what? I must have missed this conversation."

Christine sighed. "Order more wine for us both, Meg. We have some talking to do. And afterward, I need to call my mom."

* * *

A week passed in Paris. Nadir continued to send Christine messages about his progress – and Erik's, although he hadn't personally seen the other man again. He didn't try to call her, and while she didn't reply to any of his texts, she did appreciate his gentle persistence. This was a man clearly used to one-sided conversation. She hated that she had reduced him to this the way that Erik so often did, but she wasn't ready to forgive and forget.

Another week passed. Anna flew into the city to help them celebrate an American Thanksgiving, and Meg's mother joined them as well. The four of them cooked dinner together: ham, in absence of turkey, fresh cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, and apple pie. The evening was just what Christine needed. For a few hours, she was able to forget everything that had happened over the past two months, instead focusing on family and friends who might as well be family.

Then, at the turn of December, Christine got a text from Nadir.

 _They have surrendered. It's finally over._

The beginnings of holiday lights and music had placated Christine a bit. She sent a reply. _Is everyone safe?_

He fired back almost immediately. _Yes. Little bloodshed. We frightened them badly enough. While I would never fully trust those who remain, we now have enough to make their lives miserable should they pursue this further._

 _I'm glad,_ she texted. Then, after a few minutes of considering, she added, _What's next for you?_

 _Home to Paris. And you?_

 _And Erik?_ Her fingers stabbed at the letters.

 _No further word from him. I can only hope he will come back to Paris as well. …Christine?_

She waited a long time before sending back an answer to his question. She knew what he was asking – would she continue with the plan they had set up a month ago in Sweden? If Erik did come back to Paris, he would likely head back underneath the Palais Garnier. She had walked past that majestic building many a time since settling in Paris – she had even seen an opera there – but she hadn't ventured to his home.

When they had been in Sweden, she had demanded that Nadir teach her a safe passage below, and he had, albeit reluctantly. Fearing what might happen if she wrote it down and the notes fell into the wrong hands, she had committed the details to memory, running through them in her mind as she fell asleep, over and over.

Now, she would use them.

 _I'm going to find him,_ she told Nadir. _You know I have to._ _You know I'll never be happy until I do._

 _Be safe_ , was his soft reply. _I'll be in Paris by tomorrow._

With Meg's help, and her mother's arrival, she was ready. She wasn't sure what Erik's reaction would be. Maybe he would refuse to talk to her. Maybe he would talk to her, but his words would be harsh and uncaring in an effort to drive her away.

Either way, she was ready to find out.

The next day, done with waiting around, Christine packed a small travel bag that she could throw over her shoulder cross-body style, as well as a backpack that she filled with fruit, cheese, and some nonperishables. She set an alarm for two o'clock in the morning, slept restlessly until then, and hailed a cab from her hotel room to a few blocks from the Palais Garnier.

Few people were on the streets at the odd hour. She made her way down Rue Scribe, tucking her gloved hands into her coat pockets against the nighttime chill. She walked on the opposite side of the street from the Palais Garnier like Nadir had instructed, until she was parallel with the small double doors she sought.

She heard Nadir's words now as though he was only just speaking them. "Funny how one particular security camera never works, no matter how many times they have tried to change the wiring."

Heading straight for those doors, she glanced around to see if anyone was around. The streets had been abandoned anyway, but she felt safer after double-checking. Then she pulled out the small, flat, silver key Nadir had given her, which she had kept inside her passport ever since.

"Had you expected something heavy and brass? This at least is easier to carry."

She pulled the door shut behind her as she stepped into a small hallway. This door led to some of the lesser-used dressing rooms in the opera house, and she found the one she was looking for – tucked into the back. It was clear from the pale blue velvet-covered furniture and the hazy mirrors that the room hadn't been updated much in the past centuries. She found the mirror that Nadir had described, stood on a chair, and felt along the top edge.

"There is a series of raised pieces of wood. Place your right hand upon them and play the first seven bars of _Fur Elise_."

Christine had laughed at the time – how very much Erik. Now, she pressed her fingertips upon the makeshift keys no bigger than the ends of her fingers and tapped out the code, imaging Erik doing the same year after year. How often had he stood right here, dressed in his black hat and cloak, and placed his spindly fingers upon these hidden buttons?

As soon as she tapped the last key, the mirror hissed with displaced air, and a crack appeared along the edges. She was able to pry the large mirror from the wall, revealing a passage leading into total darkness. She brought the small battery-powered camping lamp from her backpack and turned it on. The back of the mirror had a small handle, so she was able to pull it firmly closed behind her.

The passage yawned ahead, and her lamp didn't cast as much light as she had hoped it would. However, Nadir had promised his directions would carry her safely to Erik's home, and he was expecting a message from her within the hour about her wellbeing.

"The first part of your journey is a series of turns. The wrong turn can lead to a trap, so follow my instructions precisely. This is the most perilous part of the path as Erik never expects intruders to survive past this point."

She wet her lips and recited the turns in her head: straight, left, straight, straight, right, right, down (not up), up (not down), left, and straight. As she walked, she left off the step before so she wouldn't grow confused, and gradually, she reached the end of the series of corridors. Before her opened a large chamber, which looked somewhat familiar.

The underground lake.

She could smell the murky depths just before her lamplight reached the inky black water. She knew this could go one of two ways: if Erik was already home, the boat would be absent, and she would then have to either swim (not recommended by Nadir) or call for Erik's help. There _were_ ways around the lake, but they were more treacherous than Nadir had been willing to let her venture.

If Erik wasn't already back, the boat would be lurking somewhere along this side of the shore.

As she approached the edge of the lake, she found the small vessel tethered to a post. So Erik wasn't home yet – so much the better for her.

She climbed into the boat, slipped the tether free, and pushed off using the long pole. She remembered the first time she had traveled across the lake, only minutes after meeting Erik. He had terrified her with his glowing eyes, tall dark form, and snappish attitude. She imagined seeing him again and her heart began to pound.

"Keep the posts in the water always upon your left side."

One by one, she saw the wooden posts and steered the boat accordingly until she finally reached the far shore. Never had she been so glad to leave behind that motionless lake. Erik's home opened before her, and she was eager to get inside what she knew was a much more comfortable dwelling than the caves beneath the opera house. The silence in this darkness hurt her ears, and the black stretching out around her threatened to swallow her meager lamplight.

She pulled her bags from the boat and walked up the steps to Erik's front door, which was not locked (as Nadir said it wouldn't be). She had brought her own matchbox, and she pulled it out now, traveling around the living room and lighting most of the candles she could find. Then she made a fire in the fireplace using the dry wood and kindling laid out upon the hearth.

Sitting back on her heels, she took off her coat and basked in the fire's warmth for a moment. She twisted a bit to take in the room around her. Now the place resembled the home she remembered, though it was obvious Erik hadn't been here in a long time. Dust had settled onto every surface, but luckily the furniture had been covered by white cloths – Nadir's doing after Erik left for Boston?

She went around the room, busying herself over the next half hour. She pulled and folded the tarps, dusted surfaces using a rag she had found in the tiny kitchen, and straightened Erik's compositions that had been left strewn across the floor. Lovingly, she stroked the shiny black surface of the piano's keyboard cover, wishing that Erik was already here. How long would it take for him to come back?

Afterward, she took her bags to the room she had inhabited so long ago. Upon the bed, folded perfectly, was a blouse and skirt she had worn one of those first days she had spent with Erik. She must have put it in with some of his things to be washed before she had left so abruptly.

Biting her lip, Christine fought her tears. She had no use for them now. No matter what, she had to be strong and steadfast. No matter what Erik said or did, she knew what her own words and actions had to be. What followed afterward would be up to him.

She slipped between the sheets, exhausted from the day. She was asleep within seconds. When she woke, her waiting would begin again.

* * *

 **One more chapter and an epilogue to go...**


	37. Chapter 37

**NOT the last chapter, I'm afraid. Consider this Part 1 of 2. It was getting long, so I thought you might appreciate getting half now. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 37**

For three days, Christine waited in the house beneath the opera.

With the fire going, the place really wasn't that unpleasant, the ever-present chill kept at bay. She spent most of her time cuddled in a blanket on the divan, which she had pulled closer to the hearth, reading Erik's variety of books. She couldn't bring herself to play anything on the piano, the black thing looming in the room and full of memories. She also couldn't do much on her phone; although she did have cell signal and a charger that used batteries, she needed to conserve power as much as possible since she had no idea how long she would have to wait.

That night, she was woken by her phone ringing. Blearily, she groped for it in the dark and saw that it was Nadir. He wouldn't call her unless it was important, so she pressed the green button to answer.

"Yes?" she said, voice cracking with sleep.

"Thank you for answering," he said, the regret richly evident.

She sighed, too half-asleep to stay irritated with him. "I'm ready to move on. I miss your face, old man."

He breathed a deep sigh of relief into the phone. "And I miss you, as well. I do have a reason for calling, however. Erik was just here."

That made her wide awake. She sat up, tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder so she could light some candles. "H-How was he?"

"Not his best and headed your way now."

She was up, putting Nadir on speaker so she could change into jeans and a sweater. "What do you mean, not his best?"

"Exhausted. I did manage to get him to shower and eat a tiny bit. But I'm sure you can imagine his emotional state. Christine, I have to warn you-"

She cut him off. "Nothing else. I don't care."

There was a long pause, and then a gentle, "All right. But please, be careful."

"I trust him, Nadir. I'll be in touch. Otherwise, I hope to see you soon." She hung up and headed for the living room, lighting candles as she went.

The absence of the boat on the other side of the lake would tip Erik off that someone was down here. The lighted candelabra would also alert him to her presence, and hopefully save her from a quick Punjab before he realized who she was. After that… well, there was no going back now.

Her final move was to grab a large garment bag from the bedroom and lay it across the divan. Then she settled next to it, the fire at her back, and waited.

She didn't have to wait long.

His voice rose up, swift and powerful, thundering around the room, sliding over her. "Whoever is within my home, do not move, or it will mean your death!"

Despite herself, she trembled. In her lap, her hands clasped each other to keep from shaking. She hadn't heard him use that voice since he had interrogated the man in New York in front of her. Now, she forced her breathing to stay slow, even as what happened next startled her.

In a spinning arch around the room, the candles winked out, throwing her into complete darkness. She blinked, trying to get her vision to clear, but she could see nothing. She knew Erik could see well in the dark, so he must be too far away to know it was her in the room. Her thoughts spun as she tried to consider if there were traps actually inside his home or if he would make a move without finding out who the intruder was first.

She sat still, unmoving, as commanded. Her fingernails cut into her own palms as she clenched her hands. A terrible aura filled the space, the presence of a dangerous man who would not be threatened in his own home. She heard the door open.

At her first attempt to speak, her voice squeaked. Then she quickly followed with a strained call: "It's me, Erik!"

Immediately, the chilling sensation that had surrounded her retreated. Candles winked back on throughout the room – how, she had no idea. Erik appeared in the entrance to the living room, his shoes squelching on the entryway rug, his cloak dripping at the edges, his hat drenched. Was it raining aboveground? It must be, from the look of him.

He loomed, a black shape filling the doorway. His eyes roamed over the room before alighting on her and widening.

"You…" he murmured. His surprise wore off quickly, his half-masked face twisting into anger. "Doing as you like, as always!"

He broke into motion, beginning to cross the room. She saw what he was intending – heading toward his own chambers where he might escape her. She jumped from the divan and bolted into his path, her hands raised to stop him. Cloak swirling about his legs, he brought himself up short before she could touch him, as if he had hit a brick wall.

"I've been waiting for you," she said. Even though her body shook with tenseness, she was amazed at how steady she was able to keep her voice. Her hands stayed raised in a calming gesture.

"Then you are a fool," he spat. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. He took a step forward, scowling when his effort at intimidation didn't make her flinch back. "I can easily get past you."

"I know."

"If you are here to give more goodbyes, you are wasting your time. You have made that clear enough already."

You _left_ me _in London,_ she wanted to argue, but she held her tongue. Instead, she reached down with one hand and began to peel off her slippers, then her socks, one after the other. Erik's head turned ever so slightly to the side in a movement that she thought gave him a closer look at what she was doing.

His mouth opened to say something more, and then his lips pressed together in a firm line. Finally, he grated, "Where is the boy?"

"I have no idea."

His hands fisted, and for a moment, she thought he might slam one into the nearby wall. He sucked in several deep breaths, regaining his control. "Lies, Christine?"

"I'm not lying."

"I saw him with you in London." As if only now remembering he still wore his hat and cloak, he peeled off both, tossing the sodden garments to the floor beside them. He _had_ just showered, the fresh scent of his soap sending longing bubbling up within her. "I saw you allow his arms around you!"

"I did," she said softly.

"You went to his room." He threw the accusations at her.

"I did."

"You went to his _bed_."

"I stayed the night, yes." As she spoke, Erik's eyes darted over her face, his gaze searing as he searched for whatever he needed to see. His tall body seemed to curve inward upon itself, his long fingers grasping at his jacket. "I'm sure you already know this," she continued, needing to push on, "but when we woke up the next morning, he got a call saying his nonprofit project had been fully funded. And not just through the year. Funded _forever_."

He scoffed at that, a broken sound. "My Christine would not starve!"

She wanted desperately to touch him, but restrained herself. Not yet, not yet. "Erik, that is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me."

The whine built in his throat. He spread his fingers wide, palm-up before her. "I love you."

She smiled up at him. Then, keeping eye contact until the last possible moment, she grasped the edges of her sweater and pulled it over her head.

"I- what are you _doing_? Christine!"

She let the sweater fall to the side. She was highly aware of his amber eyes darting over her bare torso. The scars that peaked over the edges of her bra were unable to hide from his probing stare even in this low light.

"Erik, I'm not with Raoul. I've _never_ been with him. I don't love him, not at all."

She had his full attention now, and she hoped he wouldn't try to flee again. His burning gaze following her, she walked back to the divan. There, she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her hips, ignoring the startled noise he made. She bent over to push them down her legs, stepping out of each side before kicking them away. Then she straightened, more exposed before him than ever before, her lips curling upward.

"I was wrong, you know," she said gently, "to push so hard."

He hadn't moved except to turn his body toward her, the broad line of his shoulders hunched with tension. "Stop this, Christine!"

She continued, resisting the urge to fold her arms over her bare stomach. "I had such a bad reaction to your proposal, but I was scared, and I needed time that I thought maybe you couldn't give."

She turned toward the garment bag laid over the divan and unzipped it, revealing the contents. Erik didn't seem to notice, at least based on his reaction, still riveted on her and trying desperately to stay focused on her eyes. The attempt at being gentlemanly amused her, but now it was time to go all in. She wasn't sure at all how he would react.

"I've had a lot of time to think," she said. She drew out the dress and stepped into the silky fabric, pulling it up her body. The sleeves fell daintily to her wrists, as form-fitting as the high-necked bodice. A small train tumbled in flowing waves behind her.

Now, as she stood before him encased in soft white, he seemed to notice what she was wearing. He took a step toward her, sweeping a hand before him. "You don't have to do this," he pleaded.

"I know," she whispered. She turned her back to him, pulling her mass of curly hair across one shoulder. "Would you zip me up?"

It was an unspoken plea for acceptance. He could so easily leave now. He could tell her to take off the dress. Instead, his black shoes skittered slowly across the stone, every step a weighty promise, until she felt the heaviness of him at her back, the heat of his body on her skin.

"Christine," he said, her name a delicious hiss on his lips. The cool backs of his fingers brushed along her neck, moving aside a strand of hair she had forgotten. Those fingertips traced the length of her spine, raising goosebumps along her arms, until reaching her zipper located at the line of her underwear. In one steady motion, he had zipped her up, the clink of the zipper teeth momentous in her ears.

He took a step back as she turned around. His eyes were bright. "What are you doing?" he asked again.

"Waiting for you to ask me again," she said. "I love you, Erik. I've loved you for a long time. I- I know I panicked before, I know I should have been more understanding-"

"I rushed you. I shouldn't have tried to force-"

"I know why you did, and I only wish I could have-"

"Christine, you did nothing-"

" _Please_ ," she said, cutting him off gently. She took a deep breath. "My mother and Nadir are going to be waiting upstairs soon." He reeled further back from her, and she pressed on hurriedly. "I-I know it may not be what you had in mind, and I know right now, until we can get the right paperwork, it's not legally binding. But I want, I _need_ to show you that I'm all in. Erik, I want to do this for you, for me, for _us_."

She stopped herself as her throat closed up. He stood motionless before her, and she couldn't take that indecipherable look in his eyes anymore. She ducked her head, staring down at her bare feet, embarrassment rising within her. This wedding dress was simple, muted satin without adornment. Maybe it wasn't his taste? Maybe… maybe he had no more interest in marrying her?

One bony knuckle came under her chin and lifted her to meet his gaze once again. Those yellow depths were heated, and she felt a blush spread across her cheeks.

"Erik," she breathed.

"You are serious," he said softly. "Your mother… she knows about us?"

"Yes." She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, but the tears came anyway, spilling over her cheeks and dripping onto his hand. "You value your privacy, but I had to tell her about you. I _wanted_ her to know how much I love you, how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you." She hesitated. "That is… if you still want to w-with me."

To her surprise, he cupped her face in his large hands, thumbs brushing away her tears. His intense stare scanned over face as though memorizing every feature, every emotion laid out clearly for him to read.

Then he eased down to kneel on angular knees before her. His eyes darted across the floor for a moment as he seemed to weigh some decision. Then he pressed a hand against his mask and pulled it free from his face, laying it next to him on the floor with careful precision.

His voice was thick when he spoke again. "You need to know the full extent of what you are asking."

"I do know-" she began, but he cut her off with a swift hand pressing cool fingertips against her lips. She froze, and he held them there for several long moments before he seemed certain she would stay silent. She resisted the urge to dart out her tongue and taste the rough pad of one finger.

"Christine, in these past weeks, I have killed three men and injured a dozen more."

She sucked in a breath. She had known, deep down, that this was the path he and Nadir were taking, that they were going to do whatever it took to end this conflict. Nadir had told her there had been only a little bloodshed, but he hadn't given her a detailed account of what had happened.

Erik continued with determination. "You must know, of course I did it for you, of course I knew I had to do anything to keep you safe, but that does _not_ excuse my actions. This… darkness inside of me – it is ever present. How can I possibly ask you to bind yourself to me in marriage? You, who are everything I am not, who have given me patience and kindness and love when I had none. I cannot do that to you, Christine."

She gazed down at him, her heart swelling with pride. This was her man, _hers_ , kneeling before her. He had thrown himself back into killing and done it for _her_ , and even though she knew murder was wrong, she couldn't help but believe that he had sacrificed a few in order to save many. By frightening them off, he had tied a tourniquet around his messy past.

Her hand lifted and curled around his misshapen cheek, her fingers ghosting along the abnormal ridges and reddened flesh. He jerked a bit but didn't move away.

She spoke softly, almost whispering. "What would you have done if I had said yes that night?"

His eyes went wide in that way she recognized meant he was startled by her words. His eyes always did give him away. "In that moment?" He shifted a bit on his knees. She kept her hand upon him, loving the way his jaw flexed as he spoke. "Please understand that I began drafting my own documents as a French citizen soon after our return to Europe. I… had hoped they would come into use."

She had a million questions, but they would have to wait. She slid her thumb across the smoother skin just under his eye, felt the slight droop at the corner. "Erik?"

"Married you as soon as possible," he admitted in a rush. "The process would have taken a month, maybe more, but even so, my ring w-would have been upon your finger."

She heard the way he stumbled upon his last statement, so unlike him. She drifted her hand down and brushed the top of her thumb across the bottom swell of his lip. So much wasted time between them, so much time running away from what her heart had wanted anyway. How often had he drawn away from her? How often had they danced around in circles?

"Erik, I'm standing before you in a white dress, ready to spend the rest of my life with you." She took his face in both hands, his rapt expression awe-filled. " _You,_ you silly man! _You_ , who have torn my life apart, rearranged it, and put it back together in the shape it should've always been. _You_ , who cherishes me and loves me so dearly."

She paused to gain control over the quaver that had started in her voice. "You do… still love me?"

At that, he surged to his feet in a sweep of black cloth and scrape of shoe. One hand tangled in the hair at the back of her head while the other firmly caught her lower back, snatching her against the rough line of his body. His lips descended upon hers, hard and desperate, lips already parted, tongue quickly seeking entrance, and she gave it readily. Within seconds, she was moaning into his mouth, wanting to clutch him to her, but her hands were caught between their bodies.

He kissed her to make up for a month of distance between them. The slant of their mouths shifted, angled deeper, shifted again to find even more shared sensation, the pressure turning almost painful. Her trapped hands grasped the fabric of his jacket, nails biting into the wool. His fingers dug into her scalp, and his other hand had found purchase slightly too low to be completely innocent.

Her body was set aflame, missing him, missing everything about him. His scent surrounded her, sandalwood and smoke and now again the dampness of his underground home.

He tore his lips from hers, not loosening his hold, enough to rasp, "Marry me, Christine! Forgive me, for I will never be able to stay away from you. I must have you – I must be yours. _Marry me_."

"Yes," she said, pressing kisses along his jaw. "Yes, yes, yes."

His lips were on hers again. Free from the confines of the mask, the ruined side of his mouth was free to press against hers fully, and she groaned in eagerness, tucking her body against him.

He broke away again, putting a few inches between them. Hands shaking, he pulled a small black box from his inside jacket pocket. He must have carried it with him all this time. He opened the box, pulled free the ring she remembered so clearly, and she held out her finger so he could slide it in the spot where it belonged.

Relieved laughter, more tears. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, and he pressed his ruined cheek against the white satin of her dress, lifting her to her bare toes. She smoothed her hands over the tops of his quivering shoulders, then drew him back so she could press her lips to his once again.

After a moment, they reluctantly parted. Christine smoothed his rumbled jacket and gazed up at him, unable to stop her grin. "Our witnesses are probably waiting upstairs now. I-I planned a little ceremony just in case I needed it to convince you."

He curled a few strands of her hair around his fingers. "My sweet Christine. I would be honored."

She puffed a relieved breath. "All right then. Shall we go?"

He bent and retrieved his mask, replaced the article upon his face. "We shall."

In one smooth motion, he swept her into his arms, the train of her dress trailing to the floor. She yelped with delight at the sudden motion and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was here, _she_ was here, this was truly happening. Erik carried her toward the boat so they could head across the lake, but she kicked her naked feet, showing him that she needed shoes.

She laughed as he swung them around and headed with long strides to the bedroom. He sat her down long enough for her to put on a pair of low white heels, and then she was in his arms again, and he moved with that graceful speed of his back to the boat.

They didn't speak on the ride across the lake. She sat while he stood, and they were each other's focus, eyes for nothing else.

On the other side, he stepped out and offered a hand, helping her out as she maneuvered her dress over one arm. As soon as she adjusted her clothing on the other side, he had picked her up again, cradling her close.

"I can walk, you know," she huffed even as she hugged his neck.

He only grunted at her and held her even closer, his mask a cold presence along her forehead. She leaned her head along his shoulder, imagining a lifetime of these arms around her. She couldn't stand to be separated from him again, not from any long period time. These weeks had truly been horrible, and she wanted to spend the next making up for that time.

Once they reached a door at the top of a long, narrow staircase, Erik set her on her feet, making sure the train of her dress was draped over her arm. He pressed upon some stones and the door swung open, emitting them to a space that seemed to exist on the inside of a wall.

He glanced down at her, gripping her hand in his. "Beloved, there are passages all throughout this opera house that allow us to pass unseen and avoid cameras. Where are we supposed to meet?"

She flushed a bit. "I thought the Room of the Moon would be nice."

"Ah." He touched her cheek. "Salon de la Lune, mon cher?"

She thought at that moment that he needed to speak French much more often. His accent had always glide deliciously over her skin, but this sent desire coursing through her all the more. "I thought it would be appropriate."

"Not Salon du Soleil? You should be in the sun, not dragged into the dark with me."

She couldn't help but grin cheekily. "I'm in the dark with you now and loving every moment."

His amber eyes glittered in the low light. Then he blew out the lamp.

The sudden darkness took her aback, but Erik was still a solid presence before her, his long fingers still curled around one of her own hands. He lifted her hand and she felt his lips press tenderly against her fingertips. Then he settled her hand upon his chest, reassuring her that he was still there.

His hand now free, his fingers traveled down her wrist, dipping around the delicate bones there before sliding up her satin-encased arm. She shivered as she felt the pressure of his fingers travel up her side before finding the line of her throat, curving around the narrow column, his thumb caressing up and down the jut of her chin.

"Are you?" he asked, his voice a purr in the air around her. "If we go through with this, I will never let you go again. I can't watch you walk away again, can _never_ part from you again. You will be mine, Christine Daaé, completely and without end."

Using her hand on his chest to brace herself, she stood on tiptoe and pressed herself against him. Beneath her hand, his heart sped up. "Good."

His hand tightened slightly, possessively. "Christine-"

"When will you understand, Erik?" she said into their shared breath. "I choose _you_." She cocked her head to the side, knowing he could see the movement. "I do have a question, though - What's your last name?" She spoke against his lips, accessible since he was bent slightly over her.

His thumb stilled on her throat. "I have none."

She caressed her lips over his. She didn't want the topic to hurt him, but all the same, she needed to ask. "I only wondered since we are getting married." How she loved to say those words aloud!

He growled, but not with anger. "I sometimes use Garnier, but you should have a real last name, not one procured elsewhere."

"I like Garnier."

" _Christine_ , I would take your last name."

That brought her up short. She desperately wished she could see him right then, to be able to read his eyes. "You would?"

"I would. I would be honored to do so, though I fear opening your mother up to any future danger with those seeking me out. I may have calmed the current feud, but I can't predict what will happen five years from now, a decade from now."

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. The hand at her throat fell away, instead entwining in her hair. "Then I will be Christine Garnier, and the name will always remind me of Paris, where we met. But if you want me to call you Erik Daaé in private, I'm honored to do so."

A chuckle bubbled up within his chest, rumbling in her ear. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, and, taking her hand once again, he led her through the secret passages of the Palais Garnier to the small alcove where Nadir and her mother would be waiting.

* * *

 **Part 2 coming soooooon.**


	38. Chapter 38

**I hope you don't mind the rather GIANT chapter, but I didn't want to divide it. This is the final chapter, with an epilogue to follow shortly. MANY thanks to all reviewers. MANY MANY thanks to Wheel of Fish for betaing this chapter and for her ongoing support and constant sound-boarding. :)**

 **This chapter is rated M!**

* * *

 **Chapter 38**

Christine had been within the Palais Garnier before and after performances, roamed the halls and white-marbled staircases when few people had been in the building. However, she had never seen it in the full cover of night, with almost no lights left on and no other noises to mask their footsteps scraping across the shiny floors.

They had emerged from within the walls near the Salon de la Lune, stepped down a staircase, and passed through the small hallways until they reached the cozy circular room. Unlike the Salon du Soleil with its ceiling covered in gold, the Salon de la Lune was a darker landscape with golden stars.

Christine loved the four mirrors in both this alcove and the Salon du Soleil that reflected the gold accents into perpetuity around the rooms. Like she had asked, Nadir had lighted four candles, one on the lip of each mirror, and the candlelight reflected over and over in the room. She hoped Erik would see the beauty in the reflections and not focus upon his mask – she knew he was loath to look into any mirrors.

They paused just outside the room. She turned to the pensive man next to her and reached up to touch his smooth cheek.

"Hey, I should've thought this through more. If you don't like the mirrors-"

He cut her off gently, turning his face so he could kiss the palm of her hand. "An infinite number of Christines to look upon? You chose well."

She flushed a bit. "That's not what I meant." But his eyes sparkled in return, and she could see that he wasn't worried about the mirrors.

A throat cleared behind them. Nadir entered another doorway to the side, dressed in a dark blue suit that cut nicely on his muscular figure. But she didn't like the hard set of his mouth, nor the way he fretfully rubbed his beard when they saw him.

She hadn't seen the Iranian since that day in Uppsala, Sweden and their conversation that had been full of half lies from him. She felt like she was ready to move beyond what had happened; after all, everything had turned out all right at the end, but _still_. She resisted the urge to fidget awkwardly. Nadir and she had once been close – they could be that way again. She just needed to extend an olive branch.

He beat her to it. He stopped rubbing at his beard and stepped quickly forward, grasping her upper arms in a warm gesture that made her smile. His brown eyes swept up and down her. "My dear, you look lovely!"

She returned his embrace. "Thanks, Nadir."

Erik had glowered at the other man's forwardness, but he didn't hesitate to take the hand Nadir offered him. His expression turned to one of surprise when Nadir pulled him in and clapped his back in a hug.

"I apologize for the secrecy," Nadir said, stepping back from them both, "but the lady made me swear it."

"I believe that," Erik said smoothly, raising a single brow at Christine.

"However, you both seem well. I'm thrilled!"

"Are you?" Christine asked, unable to stop herself. "You looked like something was wrong." She glanced around the room, down the wide, ornate hallway to the side. "Where is Mama?"

Now the worried beard-rubbing gesture returned. "Ah…" Nadir said, "I truly hate to have to say this, but, my dear, she said she wouldn't be coming."

Christine spun on him. "What?"

"I'm so sorry, but she refused to come with me. She… _had_ previously agreed to this, yes?"

"Yes, yes, she did." Although Anna had openly expressed her concerns about all of this throughout the past weeks, never had she said she wouldn't show up if – when – the time came to stand at her side. Christine could feel her face grow hot with embarrassment, her vision blurring with a sudden rush of tears.

A comforting hand settled along her back, rubbing up and down in a slow, soothing motion. Erik leaned in, pressing cool lips to her temple. "We can wait. Dearest, this doesn't have to happen tonight."

Her face twisted in a mix of anger and sadness. "Yes, it does, Erik. We've waited long enough to- to live our lives together, and I know we don't need this ceremony for that to happen, I _know_ that, but…" She angrily wiped away a few tears that fell. "It's important to me to pledge my life to you in front of people who mean a lot to us. I don't want to wait anymore for that."

Nadir cleared his throat. "If your mother won't come, then perhaps Ms. Giry?"

"Meg?" Christine took the handkerchief Erik offered and dabbed at her eyes and nose. "Meg had wanted to come, but I told her no." She looked apologetically at Erik. "I didn't want to overload you with too many strangers."

"Then it is decided," said Erik. "Daroga, see to the mademoiselle's arrival here." He took Christine's hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze before starting to pull her down the hallway. "Come, Christine. I know how we can pass the time."

Christine gave Nadir a shaky half-smile. "Thanks so much. Um, she might be a bit testy at being woken up. I'd call her myself but I left my phone behind."

Nadir waved a dismissive hand. "We will make do. Don't concern yourself with the how – just be back here soon."

She nodded and let Erik lead her away. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as they traveled down a different hall; she glanced down at the yellow, grey, and white shapes upon the floor, the colors muted in the night. He led her past the many cherry wood doors that led to the orchestra section, past the white marble busts that lined the wall. Before they reached the end of that section of the hallway, he turned right and opened one of the doors into a small nook encased in scarlet carpet and wallpaper brushed with gold designs. They were entering one of the boxed seats lower upon the stage. Before they made their way to the edge of the box, Erik stopped, bent, and pressed along the trim of the wall.

A panel popped open. Erik slid a section of the wall to the side, enough for him to walk through, pulling Christine with him. There was a time when she might have hesitated to follow him into darkness like this, but now, she let his spindly fingers curl around hers without a pause in her step.

She was still shaken up by her mother's absence. She knew Anna was still upset over what had happened, over her disappearance, secrecy, and traipsing around Europe for the sake of drawing a dangerous man's attention. However, Christine had hoped her mother understood that no matter what, all of that had been Christine's decision.

Later, sometime after tonight, she would call her mother and deal with this. Right now, Christine had one focus: continuing her plans for tonight. She just hoped Meg didn't mind being woken up at what had to be at least 3 o'clock in the morning by now.

They didn't have the lamp anymore, so Erik led her blindly through the tunnels. His steps were swift and sure, and she knew he had unnatural ability to see at least a little in the dark. At one point, she stumbled upon the long hem of her dress, and he paused, helping her adjust the train. Her heart skittered a beat at the way he focused his attention upon her.

"I am afraid this path will soil your dress," he murmured.

She grinned at him, knowing he could see it. "You don't know me at all if you think I care about that."

His breath sucked in sharply. Thinking he had misunderstood her flippant words and taken them seriously, she fought to retract them, but his fingertips upon her lips silenced her.

"You are my match in every way, beloved." He replaced his fingers with his lips, a chaste kiss that still sent desire pooling within her. "Now, come."

A wider tunnel opened up, heading straight away from the Palais Garnier, Christine was almost sure of that. They didn't have to walk much further. A single door stood at the end, tucked behind another short hallway that seemed to be mostly stone. A dull bulb lit the door. Erik took out a normal-looking key and unlocked it.

"Mind your eyes," he said, and flicked a panel near the door.

The large room before them bloomed into full light. Christine blinked in the sudden brightness. A pleasant scent assailed her nose just before her eyes adjusted and she took in the sight before her.

Flowers, all around. They stood in the back of a storage room of a flower shop. Bouquets of flowers nestled in water inside large buckets scattered throughout the space, arranged by type and color. Premade arrangements filled several large refrigerators.

Erik gestured at an arching entryway nearby. "There are more in there."

He was right. At the front, beyond the main counter, more flowers filled the room. Christine spun around to take in all of the colorful blossoms. She picked up a loose white flower and held it to her nose, inhaling the crisp fragrance.

"These are gorgeous, Erik. But why bring me here?"

He fingered the petals of a nearby flower. "A bride typically carries flowers, no? I thought you might like to as well."

Oh, Erik. He had brought her here to help ease the sting of her mother's rejection. Her lips curling upward, she said, "I can't steal these, though. Not even for my own wedding."

He scoffed at that. "Of course not. I did have a key." He swept an arm to indicate the flower shop. "I own this place."

Her eyebrows raised. Erik owned a flower store, with a direct tunnel inside. Across the street from the opera house. She couldn't help the peal of laughter that escaped her, and once she got started, she couldn't stop. The choking, sputtering noises she made weren't likely that attractive, and she doubled over because her sides started to hurt. Still, she laughed, laughed until she had to wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes.

She was aware that Erik had gone very still during her display. She opened her eyes to see that his neck had flared red from where it peaked above his collar. At first, she sobered up, thinking he was furious with her, worried that maybe he thought she was mocking him. Then she saw the stiff way he held himself, the way he gripped the counter nearby.

He was embarrassed.

"Oh, my love," she said, still a bit breathless. She crossed the space between them and laid a hand on his uncovered cheek. "I'm sorry. I wasn't poking fun at you."

"Is my pride that easily wounded?"

She let herself smile at that. "I was only surprised by you, surprised and delighted. I guess I got caught up in my own happiness for a moment. I _love_ that you own a flower shop." She stood on tiptoe, slid her hand so her fingertips dove into his wig beyond his ears, and indicated with gentle pressure that she sought a kiss.

He gave it, bending to meet her lips. For a second, his hands trembled before flattening against her back, their wide widths spanning her body easily. Sometimes she forgot this man's past, how much he had suffered because of his appearance, how much he had gone through and how little she knew about it.

"I'm sorry," she said again, pulling back to gaze up at him.

His expression had softened. "I will forgive you if you choose some flowers."

She kissed him again, then set to work exploring the store. She didn't have a particular favorite flower. She honestly had received few in her life. After her first chemo treatment, she had received a bouquet from her theatre program, one of those generic ones with baby's breath. Raoul had also shown up with a small handful of pink roses, but she didn't care to think about that now.

She stopped in front of a refrigerated display cabinet, eyeing the premade arrangements thoughtfully. She glanced at him. "I really don't know. Any suggestions?"

He was at her side with two great strides of his long legs, reaching around her to pluck a bloom. He held the dark green stem between thumb and forefinger, mindful of the thorns, his face blank but eyes ablaze. "This is called a kashmir rose. Hardy, easy to grow, with wide, elegant petals in a deep blood red. And…" He touched the blossom to her lips, the touch delicate, his eyes riveted on her mouth. "And they are as their name suggests, soft as cashmere, soft as you."

She took the rose from him, inhaling the sweet fragrance. "Scissors and a straight pin?"

Quickly, he obliged, finding the items. She cut the stem, leaving only a few inches from the bottom of the flower. Stepping close to him, she pinned the rose to his left lapel, smoothing the fabric down when she was finished. She was surprised to find her hands shaking a bit.

He caught one of her hands, pressing his lips to the backs of her knuckles. "More of these?"

"Yes, please," she whispered.

He worked busily, finding his way around the store with a familiarity that warmed her heart. She watched as he meticulously selected the blossoms, checking each for perfection, before placing them in a holding vase. Swiftly, he gathered the small bouquet of about a dozen roses together, tied them with white ribbon, and used a knife to slice the thorns from the exposed stems cut short. She admired the flash and dexterity of his fingers, wanting nothing more than to feel those strong lengths upon her own flesh as they gripped and pressed and coaxed her into oblivion.

When he handed her the finished bouquet, she could tell her face was flushed, yet he said nothing of it. She thanked him with a kiss and gently buried her nose into the lush arrangement of soft petals.

"Ready?" he asked.

His question was loaded, filled with layers upon layers, filled with future promises. Was she ready to head back to the Palais Garnier? Was she ready to face a ceremony without her mother, and face the fallout that would result later? Was she ready to stand at his side as he slid that ring upon her finger again, this time as he whispered words of commitment to her? All of this and more he asked with a single word, and she laid a hand on his arm, felt the muscles bunch in readiness.

"Yes," she said simply.

After Erik locked up the store, they walked back in silence. Christine kept a tight grip on her bouquet of roses, the train of her gown draped over that arm. Her other hand was enfolded in one of Erik's as she followed him down the passages and narrow hallways, his grip tight, his fingers the familiar cold touch she expected from him.

Before they reached the sliding panel of wall that led to the box of seats in the theatre, Erik swung around in the darkness and crushed his mouth to hers. He slanted the angle, brought their mouths together in deeper, fluid contact, his tongue dipping to lap at her bottom lip. He parted them just as swiftly, tucking his lips to her ear, the smoothness of his unmasked cheek against hers.

"I love you," he said, the words a low rumble in her ear.

She quivered at the touch of his breath, the whisper of promise he gave. "I can't wait to marry you."

This time, it was he who shuddered. He shifted, gripped her upper arms a little too tightly, pulling her against the hard planes of his body. If they lingered here too much longer, she feared they would never make it back to the Salon de la Lune.

But he was stepping back, taking her hand again and bringing them back to the halls of the opera house. Her heels clicked upon the marble as they stepped into the curved hallway that lead around the theatre. As they approached, she could hear two voices laughing with each other.

Before they went further, Erik paused, taking her left hand in his. "If we are to do this right…" he said, staying quiet so as not to disturb the two nearby. He gently slipped the ring he had given her from her finger, kissing the smooth skin. The ring disappeared into one of his coat pockets.

"Let's go," she said, squeezing his hand.

Christine smiled as they entered the small curved room, seeing Meg standing next Nadir. Erik hung back by the entrance, while Christine stepped toward her friend.

"Chris!" Meg cried, darting forward. The other woman caught her up in a fierce hug, then stepped back to take in her appearance. "I didn't get to see you after the alterations. You look _beautiful_. And those flowers! Gorgeous!"

Christine hugged her again, thankful for Meg's chipper attitude to break any initial awkwardness. "Meg, this is Erik. Erik, Megan Giry."

"Mademoiselle Giry." Erik crossed into the alcove to Christine's side. His gait showed Christine the tension he was feeling, but he smoothly offered his hand. Wide-eyed, Meg gave hers, and she was unable to stop the grin that spread across her face when he bent formally over her hand.

"Oh, Chris, I like him already."

Relief spread throughout Christine. How could she have ever doubted Meg? "Thanks so much for coming."

"You know I wanted to." Meg looped her arm through Christine's, leaning in conspiratorially. "I was more than happy to have Mr. Khan knock on my door in the middle of the night."

"Meg!" Christine admonished.

Nadir covered his choked breath with a cough. "Shall we begin?"

Christine nodded, fighting hard to keep from grinning ear-to-ear at the banter. This is what she had wanted, what she had wanted her mother to see. Even after everything they had gone through, even after Erik's past had caught up with him, they could still joke and laugh together like anyone else could. She hoped desperately, with time, Anna would be able to witness just how happy Christine was.

Nadir gestured that they should stand in the middle of the circular room, Meg off to Christine's side, Nadir himself positioned before them. He pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket and opened it, found a pair of reading glasses and perched them on his nose, a movement she found endearing. Meg tapped Christine's arm, taking her bouquet from her.

Christine faced Erik. Over his shoulder, she could see the two of them mirrored infinitely, their forms flickering in the candlelight. She watched as Erik took her hands in his own, his palms calloused from piano and violin, his touch cool and as familiar as breathing. His thumbs traced over the thin skin that stretched from knuckles to wrist.

"Christine," he murmured.

She snapped her eyes from the mirror to his face. His white mask shone in the warm light. His amber eyes glowed, their rich color magnified by a watery sheen.

Nadir began. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of friends to witness and celebrate the union of this man and this woman in marriage." He paused, adjusting his glasses. His voice had started clear and certain, and now he wavered, voice growing thick with emotion. Christine considered glancing at him, but she worried that seeing him come undone would make her unable to stop from crying herself.

Besides, Erik was gazing down at her calmly, and she let his steadfastness seep into her. Nadir continued, and despite how he pressed onward, his voice continued to grow heavy, his words cracking.

"Erik, do you take this woman to be your wife, to love her, honor her, comfort her, to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" Nadir cracked on the last word, and Christine felt an annoyed huff leave Erik.

Still, Erik squeezed her hands in his. "I do. Of course I do."

Nadir cleared his throat, physically steeling himself. "Christine, do you take this man to be your husband, to love him, honor him, comfort him…" Here he stopped. With shaking hands, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes behind his glasses, and went on. "Keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

How Christine willed out the two words without breaking, she would never know.

"I do."

"Right," Nadir said, flipping to the next page in his notebook. "Ah, here we go. Erik, the ring?"

Erik followed suit, fetching the ring once again. She wanted to smile up at him, but her lips trembled with the threat of tears. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek, thankful that he had cupped her hand in his so her trembling was hidden.

"May I?" Erik asked Nadir, who smiled and nodded. Then Erik held the ring to the edge of her finger and spoke, voice soft and focused on her. "Christine Daaé, I give you this ring as a symbol of my everlasting love. I pledge to remain by your side all of my days, to share in your joy and your sorrow, to lift you up with all that I am. You are my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow. All that I am, I give to you." And with that, he slipped the ring onto her finger.

A nudge at her elbow, and Meg was handing her a tissue. She gave a choked laugh and dabbed at her eyes.

"Now we kiss?" Erik inquired, eyebrow raised.

Nadir smiled, his eyes glassy. "Not yet." He dug into his inner coat pocket and produced something small and shiny, which he gave to Christine.

She thanked him, then took Erik's left hand in hers. Seeming dazed, he looked down at the simple gold band she held poised at his finger. "A ring for me, Christine?"

"For you," she whispered. Then her throat closed up. "Nadir, please?" she managed to squeeze out.

He nodded and spoke, reading from his notebook. The words were steadier than earlier. "Erik, I give you this ring as a symbol of my constant devotion to you. For all of my days, I will share my joy with you that it be multiplied. I will share your pain that it be divided. I will walk by your side as we travel through life together. I will sleep in your arms, and that love will be my home." He swallowed thickly, needing a moment to compose himself. Meg blew her nose.

Seeking her strength within Erik's strong eyes, Christine found her voice. "I will be ever yours, ever in adoration, ever your Christine." And she placed the ring upon his spindly finger and squeezed his hand tightly in hers.

" _Now_ you may kiss your bride," Nadir said.

Erik took a step toward her and gripped her chin in a feather-light touch. His lips upon hers was the seal of their promises, and even though the contact was close-lipped and quick, she felt the thundering of his heart beneath her palm, the shakiness of his breath mingled with hers, and she knew he was hers forever.

The popping of a champagne cork made her jump. She hadn't noticed the ice bucket tucked near the doorway. Now, Nadir grinned at the two of them as he poured four glasses. Once they all held a flute filled with bubbly golden liquid, he raised his glass.

"To Erik and Christine!"

"To Erik and Christine!" Meg echoed.

And they all drank deeply.

* * *

Christine declined another glass of champagne. There was no way she could have anymore alcohol in her system than that, not if she wanted to make it through the night. Her nerves were bubbling up as much as that drink, and she just knew Erik could sense her nervousness by the way he kept a comforting hand at the small of her back.

Finally, when Meg apologized around her third yawn, Christine hugged her friend tightly and shooed her off with promises of dinner as soon as they had settled down. She embraced Nadir as well, thanking him for all of his help and support.

"A fresh start," she told him, meeting his warm brown eyes. "I mean it." And she did. Anything that had passed between them was now over, and she wanted nothing more than to have her friend and companion back.

Erik and Nadir exchanged quiet words between them, speaking too softly for Christine to overhear. She gave them some space, comprehending that the two men had just shared a moment more intimate than perhaps any they had before. She knew they had spent a large portion of their lifetimes together, and she felt so serene as she gazed discreetly at them, noticing how their heads were tilted toward each other, their bodies not touching but still close together.

Erik said something that caused Nadir to throw back his head and let out a guffaw. Then the two of them clasped arms, hands just below each other's elbows, before Nadir followed Meg out of the opera house.

"Time to go home?" she asked, extending a hand to Erik, which he readily took.

"Home?" he echoed, and she heard the unspoken question.

"Eventually, we can figure out where that means," she said gently. "But for now, and for a long time, I just want to spend time with you. _You_ are my home, Erik, at your side."

He stroked her cheek with his other hand. "You are a marvel."

She caught his hand and kissed the ring there. "I've never seen your bedroom before, you know. Show me?"

His amber eyes darkened at that, the passion she saw within stealing her breath for a moment. He replied by sweeping her into his arms like he had before, and she didn't protest being carried, not when his arms were strong around her.

The journey back underground was a blur, punctuated by the rapid thudding of his heart beneath her ear and her own staccato breathing. Erik didn't bother with his lamp, seemingly too eager to retrieve it from where he had left it within the walls. Before she knew it, he was setting her gently upon her feet across the threshold of the living room.

She glanced around a bit. The fire needed stoking, and her clothes were still piled on the divan, her slippers located near the hallway. She blushed a bit at recalling how forward she had been. Erik strode forward to poke at the fire a bit while she unstrapped her heels and slipped them off.

"A moment, dearest," he said. "Warm yourself by the fire."

She settled on the divan, moving aside her clothes and the garment bag she had left there. She had grown chilled in the caves, and the warmth felt amazing on her cold fingers and toes. Erik strode down the hallway out of sight, and for a while, she heard him rummaging about.

Soon, he appeared back at her side, extending one white hand, long fingers beckoning. Wordlessly, she slipped her own slender hand into his and let herself be tugged down the hallway past her own bedroom, the bed still unmade from when she had risen hours ago. Had it really only been a couple hours ago that she had slept in that very bed, unsure when she would see Erik, _if_ she would see Erik again, and if she did, what would pass between them?

He had lit candles that showed their way down the hall until he stopped before a door that had previously always been shut to her. Kissing her knuckles, he opened the door with his other hand and ushered her inside his private chamber. He had used kindling to start a fire in a second fireplace within this room, and he crossed to the small flame to add larger pieces of wood.

The sudden blaze of firelight cast about the room, revealing walls covered in black wallpaper textured in a velvety vintage pattern. A bed of modest size stood against the far wall draped in dark gray and obviously expensive fabric. Erik must have just changed the bed's linens because they were fresh and without signs of being abandoned for months.

A smile touched her lips. "Do you actually sleep in here?"

"Admittedly, no," he said, still holding her hand. "I hope to change that, however." His words were flippant, but those amber depths blazed as hotly as the fire behind her.

She fought to keep her breathing slow and even. She let go of his hand and placed her palm in the middle of his chest, applying slight force, encouraging him to walk backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He sat upon the bed without comment, his gaze riveted upon her.

She turned, presenting him with her back. "Unzip me?"

He didn't reply, but she felt the pressure of his hands upon her, and she shivered. With infinite gentleness, he lifted the weight of her hair and pulled her zipper downward, baring her back to the warmth of the fire. His fingertips followed the line of the zipper, tracing her spine until he reached the bottom curve that began just after the small of her back.

"You are exquisite," he murmured.

She hoped he still thought so in a moment. She turned back around, her dress parting over her shoulders, holding onto her courage to watch his face while she began to slid the white fabric down her arms. Once free of her wrists, the dress fell from her hips and pooled at her feet. She didn't move from her spot, now clad only in her bra and underwear. She knew the light of the blazing fire and the candles he had lit near the bed were enough to highlight every scar and awkward lump of her body.

 _I love you_ , she thought, as her arms folded behind her back. Her fingers sought the clasp of her bra, unlatched the hooks, and in one quick motion, she had pulled the garment free of her body and let it drop to the floor.

Before she could lose her nerve, she had also shoved her underwear down and stepped out of them as well.

Erik had never seen her fully naked before. He had never seen her _topless_ before, his fingers only skimming her scars a couple times underneath her shirt. She could feel her face turn red, but she kept her hands at her sides and let him look. She wanted him to look, to finally see her for what she was; she needed his acceptance of her body in every way possible.

His eyes drew her in. Then, in one fluid motion, he stood in front of her. He gripped her chin with thumb and forefinger, his touch infinitely tender, and lifted her face so she was gazing up at him.

"Wife."

She shivered at the endearment, his voice low and rumbling, sliding over her exposed skin. When he bent and kissed her, she clung to the lapels of his jacket for a moment, not noticing that he had backed her to the bed until she was sprawled atop the silky coverlet.

"Lie back," he said into her mouth, and she did so, nervously stretching out before him. He followed her, his mouth still on hers, a knee next to her hips. Once she was fully reclined on the bed, he slid his lips to the line of her jaw, to the curve of her swallowing throat, to her collarbone, where her pulse twittered wildly.

"So beautiful." His lips moved against the dip below her collarbone. "So lovely." As he moved lower still, she felt the coldness of his mask against her chest for a brief moment before he lifted his head. She heard the dry rasp of porcelain against skin, and then he returned to pressing his lips between her scars, his face free to kiss and caress and lick without his mask getting in the way.

And lick he did, his tongue lashing out to lap at the edge of puckered flesh, and she cried out at the sensation.

"Did I hurt you?" His lips moved on below the line of tissue.

"N-No," she said, feeling breathless. "Not really."

As he journeyed further down the length of her body, his mouth encircling one hipbone, his fingertips came up to explore one of her scars, careful to stay away from the deepest portions of where the skin had been stapled together. She could feel places where numbness had spread, and others that sent tingles throughout her body.

"I love all of you, my Christine," he murmured against her quivering thigh, lower still. "My lovely Christine, my strong, magnificent wife."

One of his hands continued to trace her scars while his other dipped between her legs and sought where she ached. He skimmed a single finger up and down before delving inside, and she squirmed, the rush of emotion overtaking her. She was so exposed, laid bare in all ways before him, and she couldn't resist the urge to cover her chest with one arm.

"Erik-"

At once, his lips were at her throat as he surged upward, his breath washing over her skin, his fully-clothed body covering hers like a blanket. "Please." He kissed the words into her throat. "Please let me see you, let me touch you. It has been so long. Let me kiss you. Christine?"

His hand was still wedged between them, and his finger moved within her, and then a second finger joined it, the two long digits curling deep within, flexing in familiar ways. Heat spread throughout her. Hands gripping his shoulders, she tugged him up for a quick, bruising kiss, then pushed him downward in a gesture that was both permission and a plea.

His answering quiet laughter vibrated against her belly as he ducked back down. This time, he didn't hesitate, setting his mouth to her, his tongue hot and lashing great strokes against her. Her thighs fell open around his shoulders, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to stifle her gasp. His two fingers worked inside her, his tongue dancing across the spot that made her ache deepen. She stuttered his name within her cries, jumping when he raked his teeth across the inside curve of her thigh before plundering her with firm lips and wet tongue and nimble fingers.

"Ah, E-Erik!" She came in shower of sparks behind her eyelids, her body arching off the bed, kept steady by his splayed hand in the center of her chest. Even as she slumped back down, he lapped at her, his fingers drawing every last spasm from her trembling flesh.

He reclined next to her on the bed, brushing the damp hair from her forehead, caressing her cheek and shoulder. His hands swept over her, skimming places on her body that he had only yet either touched in passing or never felt at all.

"So soft," he murmured. She flushed under such careful attention but let him do as he liked. "Thank you for this gift you have given me."

"You don't have to thank me." She leaned up on an elbow to kiss his malformed cheek, tracing the uneven ridges with her lips.

"Even so."

He pressed her to the bed, half covering her body with his, deepening their kiss and lapping at her tongue with his. She moaned into his mouth, unable to help herself. She loved having the weight of him atop her, the length of him firm and heavy and powerful. He was obviously wanting her, the evidence hard against her thigh. She shifted, and a breathless groan emerged from him.

Wanting to feel more of him, she slid her hands between his jacket and shirt, seeking the lean ridges of his shoulders, needing to touch more beyond the scratchy fabric of his suit. As soon as her fingers curled over the tops of his shoulders, he jerked back, breaking suction with her mouth in a bursting gasp. She looked up at him, wide-eyed at his reaction. He was straight-armed above her and suddenly panting, his face twisted in what looked like pain.

"I cannot," he said, squeezing his eyes closed. "I cannot, I cannot, I'm sorry, but I cannot give you what you gave me."

 _Oh_. She silenced his panicked words with a finger upon his lips. Once he had quieted, she reached up with both hands and cupped his face, one palm on his smooth cheek, the other against the bumpy deformity of his face.

"Hey," she said softly. "I didn't expect you to. I just wanted to make you more comfortable."

His eyes fluttered open, golden depths startled and a bit wild around the edges. "Comfortable," he echoed. That fierce yellow gaze roamed over her exposed skin before alighting on her eyes again. "You have married a coward, my beloved."

She frowned and sat up, letting her hands fall to his shoulders and holding him in case he might flee. "How can you call yourself that? You traveled in a box across the ocean for me, fled to keep me safe, hid when you needed to for me, kept an eye on me even when I didn't know you were there."

He scoffed and moved away from her, putting more distance between them.

"Erik." She resisted the urge to pull him back down atop her, wanting to cover herself up. She was completely naked before him while he was completely dressed, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. "Please come back."

Not responding, he slid to the edge of the bed and stood, turning around to face her. She scrambled backwards until she found the downturned edge of the sheets, pulling them to her chest in a way she hoped didn't look as desperate as she felt.

His deft fingers fluttered to his throat, latching onto the cravat tied there. "What kind of husband would I be if I couldn't meet your bravery with my own?"

 _Oh_.

She watched, her lips slightly parted, as he tugged loose the fabric around his neck and tossed it to the side. Next, his hands drifted to the buttons of his waistcoat and undid them in quick, fluid motions until he was able to pull the silky fabric from his shoulders and drop it to the floor. Not meeting her steady gaze, he then went back to his throat and worked the buttons there, one after the other, down his long torso until the last was undone. For a moment, his shirt gaped open, revealing a line of pale skin from collar to waist.

"Erik," she breathed, wanting to reassure him.

" _Quiet_ ," he snapped. In jerky motions, he wrenched the white shirt from his body and let it fall. She bit her lip, saying nothing else that might upset him further. As she watched, he toed off his shoes. His hands then flew to the waistband of his black pants, pausing for a moment, eyes focused somewhere far away.

Then he flicked open the button, tugged down the zipper, and pulled his pants off one leg and the other, also removing socks as he went. Finally, in one violent motion, he ripped the wig from his head, slicking back the sparse strands there with two hands before lowering his arms to his sides.

When he straightened, he stood in his full naked magnificence, spine straight, chin slightly raised as he stared down his misshapen nose at her. She drank in the full sight of him, pale skin glowing in the light of the fire, scars upon scars throwing shadows across his body. He was all taut, wiry muscle, having lost any weight he had put on during their time in Switzerland. Light brown hair dusted below his belly button and sparsely covered his powerful, lean legs. His hands were clenched into fists. His limbs quivered. He was not at all aroused.

She pulled the covers back, revealing herself and not caring. She stretched her arms out as wide as the smile that lit her face. "You are not alone, my love," she whispered as gently as she could.

He made a noise somewhere between a growl and a cry. In one long pace, he had a knee upon the bed, his hands seeking her like he was a starving man. She wound her arms around his neck and tugged him close, and their bodies molded together, skin on skin, for the first time.

She gasped at the sensation. He was all fevered flesh combined with cold extremities, soft skin covered in the papery ridges of various crisscrossing scars. He tucked his body against hers, his legs disappearing miles below hers, his arms enveloping her against him, his mouth seeking hers and finding only welcome.

One of his knees slipped between hers, and she received him by draping her own leg across his upper thigh, the point of his hip digging into her knee. His hands roamed her back and lower still, to the ample flesh of her buttocks, to the crease of thigh below, to the soft curve of her hip that fit into his palm. She shivered and returned his exploration with one of her own, feeling her way across the planes of his shoulders, mapping his past with her fingertips, finding every bump of his spine, counting his ribs, and lower still, tentatively just below the dip of his lower back.

Noises rose up within his throat, and he pressed them to her mouth, deepening their kiss. She felt like his hands were everywhere, seeking every bit of her, stirring desire within her again. They kissed for an eternity, reveling in newfound confidence, coaxing the shyness from each other with touch and tongue and reassuring murmurs.

"So beautiful," he said against her throat. "So lovely, my sweet Christine, my beloved wife. How did I ever live without you?" He dipped his head to press his lips between her twin scars, and she smoothed her hands over his sparsely-covered scalp, relishing the feel of no barriers between them.

Then she sat up, running her hands across his torso to reassure him, and straddled his hips, feeling the sharp points dig into the backs of her thighs. His eyes went round, his fingers curving around her waist. She pressed her palms against his chest and lightly raked her nails. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hips canting against hers. Experimentally, she rubbed against him, loving the way his breath hitched and his fingers tightened in ways that would probably leave bruises. One of her hands sought between their bodies and grasped him, and he hissed words of encouragement. She lifted herself upon her knees and sought him inside her, and he slid within so easily, wrenching a gasp from them both.

Her name was a whisper upon his lips, his name a breath upon hers. She didn't know how to move in this position, but her body seemed to recognize what to do as primal need built inside her. She rocked back and forth, encouraged by his guiding hands, grinding upon him, seeking her own pleasure from him in unstoppable ways she never could have considered before. She was already burning for him, already twisted in knots, already sensitive from his earlier attentions, that she quickly felt herself losing control, and before long, her body spasmed around him, drawing him deeper still, clamping down on his unforgiving rigidness.

A few seconds passed as she stilled, her harsh pants loud in her ears. Before her heartbeat had slowed, before she had stopped twitching in that space deep inside, he had surged upward, flipping her onto her back. With a growl, his hips spread her wide, his fingers interlacing with her fingers and shoving her hands to either side of her head, the gesture possessive and tender at the same time. He braced himself on his elbows, and not relenting, not giving her space to recuperate, he drove himself deep again and again. The harsh, beautiful slap of bare skin on bare skin thrilled her, sent her pulling her knees upward to give him more space. His teeth scraped one of her earlobes, and she squeezed out the syllables of his name between cries.

When he collapsed atop her, their hearts skittering in unison together, he released her hands to gather her to him. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him close. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles crossed, keeping him within her.

He laughed softly in her ear and kissed her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, and then finally her swollen lips in a touch that was more caress than kiss. "Ah, Christine."

"No," she said without heat, squeezing him hard. "I'm never letting go."

"Is that a promise?" he replied easily.

"I already did." She skimmed her lips over the uneven ridges of his cheekbone.

"That you did, dearest."

They might both never be ready, but eventually, they disentangled from each other, settling into a comfortable position beneath the blankets. Christine took his left hand between hers, touching the ring that radiated there.

He cut a glance at her. "I admit, this was a delightful surprise."

She just smiled. "Let me show you something." She gently tugged off the ring and, holding it between thumb and forefinger, angled the inside edge into the light.

Inside a series of three two-digit numbers was stamped into the gold.

His eyebrows raised, one normal, one carrying the weight of a lifetime of pain she would always fight to overcome. "A date?" he inquired, the last number the current year.

"Yes," she said. "The day we met, right here beneath the Palais." He sucked in a breath at that. She replaced the ring upon his finger and snuggled back against his side. "There is room for three or four more dates. I was thinking today could be added. And then another one for the day we legally get married maybe?"

"A house," he said softly. "You need a house. Several houses."

She hid her grin. "Maybe the day we sign on a house, sure." She shifted a bit, hugging him with an arm draped over his waist. "And maybe, eventually, years in the future…" She lost her nerve, trailing off. She had _no_ idea how he would react.

But he reacted the way he always did, surprising her at every turn, assuring their lives together would never be monotonous.

"A babe."

After that, she was lost once again to the sensation of him against her.

* * *

 **An epilogue to go...**


	39. Epilogue

**It's the end! Oh god, this was the fic that wouldn't quit. THANK YOU so much to all the reviewers. THANK YOU especially to Wheel of Fish who kept me sane. I hope I did it justice, in the end. :)**

* * *

 **Epilogue**

The airport buzzed around her, full of people dashing to their destinations. The place was filled with a loud roar of excitement – the holidays were over, and travelers were eagerly returning home after days of food, gifts, and family. It was December 26th, the day after Christmas, and Christine was headed back to Paris.

She had spent the past week with her mother in Boston.

Now that the eight days were over, Christine could look back and realize how beneficial the trip had been. At first, she had pitched a fit about going, yelling at Anna over the phone as soon as her mom had dared suggest Christine spend her first Christmas away from Erik. However, as she now filed onto the plane with the other passengers, she breathed a little easier. She had needed that time to smooth the waters between her and her mother. They had parted with fierce hugs and promises to have Anna over for a visit soon.

Messages with Erik had been sparse since she had left for Boston. She sensed he was upset with her leaving, despite her reassurances of returning soon. As she settled into her seat aboard the airplane, she sent him a text message.

 _Plane is on time. Miss you and can't wait to see you._

His reply was immediate. _Be safe. Meet me at Nadir's._

She sighed with relief. He couldn't still be too furious with her if he was texting her back.

Erik had insisted she take nonstop flights both ways, saying money was no issue, and she agreed gladly. Even so, the best flights went overnight, and with the time change, she would arrive early the next morning. For her, however, the time would be the middle of the night. On the flight, she tried to sleep, but though her first-class seat was comfortable, she couldn't get her mind to relax.

Her trip back to Boston had been more than just a time to mend her relationship with her mom, though she did feel fairly certain she had accomplished just that. Her mom had been tearful and apologetic for missing their wedding ceremony, saying she had panicked at the last moment that her only child was making a horrible mistake. Christine had chewed her out on the phone – the first of several shouting matches – and refused to talk to her for days afterward. But Nadir and Meg had coaxed her to finally answering her mother's messages, and she was glad she did.

The plane ride home was uneventful. By the time she landed in Paris, she was thrumming with excitement, the lack of sleep being counteracted by her eagerness to see Erik again. Nadir wasn't picking her up – something she expected – and she easily found the driver waiting for her at baggage pick-up.

Finally, she arrived on Nadir's doorstep. She tipped the driver and lugged her bag up the single flight of stairs. When she lifted her hand to knock, the door sprung open, throwing light across her and revealing Nadir's smiling face.

"Christine!" he said, cheerful. "So glad to see you again."

"You too," she replied, returning his grin.

She was about to step into the apartment and give him a hug. Instead, a white hand shot out from around the corner of the door and planted in the middle of Nadir's back, shoving him past Christine and into the hallway. Before she could react, the same hand grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her through the doorway.

Her startled yelp was silenced by a mouth on hers, firm lips cool and familiar. Her wrist was pinned at her head against the door, which slammed shut behind them. His other hand deftly flicked the lock closed.

He was all around her, the line of his body hard against hers, the grip on her wrist loosening so he could enfold his long fingers with hers, his scent of ink and darkness as familiar as rain, his lips slanting, seeking deeper contact. She returned his kiss and drew a moan from his mouth. Her free hand drifted to his neck, seeking skin between wig and collar, and drew yet another noise from his throat.

When they parted for air, she cupped her hand over his mouth, pursing her lips to keep from smiling when she felt the tickle of his tongue brush her palm.

"Erik," she said, scowling. "That was mean of you."

He swept off her hand with his other, pinning that one against the door at her head as well. He bent and ghosted his lips against her neck, nuzzling the tendrils of her hair away with the nose of his mask. "Daroga is a resilient man. He can take it. Meanwhile, I haven't seen my _wife_ in eight days."

Oh, his mouth on her skin felt so good, and she could have easily succumbed to him right then. His fingers were strongly threaded through hers, his body pressed against her, his lips burning a path across her throat. She tilted her head back to give him better access, and he swiftly took advantage.

Her throat bobbed. Her breathing was turning shaky. "The quicker I speak with Nadir, the quicker we can go home."

He puffed a sigh, causing goosebumps to raise on her arms. "Fine." He kissed her again, softer this time, and pulled away, letting her go.

She smiled up at him, then unlocked the door and opened it. Nadir leaned against a wall a bit down the hallway, playing some kind of game on his phone. He looked up to see her.

"Done already?"

She felt her face blush. "Sorry about that."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love some." She stepped back into the apartment as he followed. Erik was shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded, his yellow eyes tracing their steps as the two of them headed for the kitchen.

" _Tea?_ " he scoffed.

Christine had retrieved her suitcase and purse, and now she rummaged in her bag, pulling out some documents she had shoved inside. She ignored Erik's glare and sat down at the kitchen table. "While we're waiting, I'll show you what I have." She held up one piece of paper. "A letter from the Dean of Students, giving me permission to finish my degree abroad." She grinned. "Took me almost seven years, but better late than never."

"That's fantastic news," Nadir said as he filled his tea kettle and set it on a burner.

"Thanks. I don't really want to go into stage management anymore, but at least it's something." She noticed Erik swerve his gaze to her at that, but she ignored him for now. She didn't want to get into another discussion about her future and whether or not that would be in music. She knew he wanted her to sing on the stage, but she wasn't sure how much she wanted to be in the spotlight like that. Secretly, she was hoping he would agree to publish some of his compositions, and maybe she could sing in those.

She flipped through some pages and held up another document. "My receipt from a moving company saying my belongings will be shipped here within the next couple of weeks. Mama and I sold off my furniture and things that are easily replaceable, like most of my books. Luckily, I didn't have much. But I'll be happy to have the rest of my clothes and some personal stuff back with me."

Erik grunted. "Your personal effects can be stored at Daroga's apartment until we move to our new residence."

Christine and Nadir exchanged a glance. She hadn't talked much with Erik about where they were going to live long-term, but he seemed to be adamant about going somewhere else besides beneath the Palais Garnier. Once, he had barked at her that underground was in no way suitable for her, and when she had tried to express that she _liked_ his home, he had sulked for days. Just another detail they needed to eventually work out in their merged lives together.

Nadir set her seeping tea in front of her, along with a tray of sugar and milk.

She cleared her throat and continued, holding up her last item, a small card with her picture on it. "And, finally, my long-term visa. I can stay in France for a year, and-" she drew out the word dramatically "- we can legally get married!"

"Congratulations, both of you," said Nadir, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I would say your trip was rather more productive than you thought it might be, yes?"

"I'd say so." She looked at Erik, whose eyes were cast off her and staring at nothing in particular. She pulled the tea bag from her cup and took a sip so she wasn't being rude. "Nadir, I think it's time to head home. I'm tired from all the traveling."

"Of course." He didn't hesitate to leave everything where it was and grab his keys in the living room. "I'll drive you both."

"Thanks."

In the car, Christine sat in the back with Erik. She didn't usually ask Nadir to chauffeur her and Erik around like this, but Erik hadn't said anything in a while, and she was worried about his silence. She had no idea what he was upset about, unless he was still mad that she had left during the holidays to spend time with her mother. They still hadn't celebrated their own Christmas, so maybe he was disappointed about that?

Dawn was breaking, and she could spy the first rays of sun peeking out over the tops of the Parisian high rises. The streetlights were still on, and they cast shadows upon Erik's face as they drove through the mostly empty streets.

She had forgotten to call her mother as she had promised. Even though it was late at night for her mother, Anna had still wanted Christine to make the call to let her know she was safe. Christine mentioned this out loud, then pulled out her cell phone and tapped her mother's name.

It rang a couple of times before Anna answered, her voice a bit groggy as though she had just gone to bed.

"Sorry, Mama," Christine said. "I made it back to Paris. I'm almost home now."

" _Is he there with you?_ " her mom asked, sounding a bit more awake.

Christine glanced at the silent man beside her. "Who? Erik? Of course."

" _Let me talk to him._ "

At that, she gulped. "Hold on," she said into the phone. She put it down and turned to Erik, who had noticed her attention. "My mother wants to talk to you."

He frowned at that, but he didn't protest when she held out the phone, taking it from her hand and pressed it to his ear on the far side away from her. He leaned his elbow on the lip of the window running along the car door. From this angle, she could only see the unblemished side of his face, his jaw tight with unease as he looked straight ahead. In the window, she could see her phone and his firm grip upon it in his reflection, his white mask aglow against the glass. She was kind of surprised he had put his mask on the outside facing the road, then remembered that Nadir had tinted windows in the back.

Christine reached out to touch Erik's hand, but he moved it to his thigh. He spoke softly into the phone, his tone not revealing any tension. "Good day to you, Madame Daaé."

She couldn't hear what her mom was saying, her voice a bit insistent but not yelling, her words garbled.

"Yes, it is a pleasure," he responded. Then he listened for a while, his long white fingers gripping his thigh. "Madame, I assure you, she is safe, even in our current-" He frowned, shifting in his seat. "We are searching right now, in and outside the city. Yes, she told me." Her mother went on for a while. Erik was thin-lipped. "I would never-" Another string of indecipherable words. "That choice is always hers, Madame." At whatever she said next, his eyes went a bit wide. "I have every intention- yes, soon. Of course, as soon as we can- On Monday, yes." He listened, eyes still startled. "About a month afterward. Please do, Madame Daaé. I- yes, I will give you the date. And you, as well. Good night."

He hung up and handed the phone back to her. Christine hadn't noticed that Nadir had pulled up next to the flower shop near the opera house until he turned around in his seat, his brown eyes concerned.

"Is everything all right?" he asked softly.

"As ever," Erik replied. He took in their surroundings with quick eyes, then got out of the car, offering Christine a hand. Nadir popped the trunk and took out Christine's suitcase.

She didn't know what to think about the one-side conversation she had just heard, but she could sense Erik didn't want to talk about it right now. She hugged Nadir and kissed his cheek, and left after promises to have him over for dinner in a few days. Then Erik swiftly ushered her into the flower shop, which hadn't yet opened for the day.

They were deep within the tunnels before he spoke to her. "Your mother… she loves you very much."

She hadn't expected that, but she nodded.

Erik carried her suitcase for her, but the motions he went through to help her through the rough path to their underground home were the same. Pause here, help her around this ledge, remind her to stoop here. She had memorized this route already, but still he aided her when he thought she needed it.

He continued, "She wants to come to our civil ceremony, during which we make our marriage publicly official."

"Oh?" That was the first she'd heard of it. Her mom had barely wanted to talk about Erik while she'd been back in Boston, skirting around the subject whenever possible. "That's what she said?"

"Yes." He set her suitcase inside the boat and took the lamp from her so she could climb in safely. He pushed off with the pole and slid them noiselessly across the lake. "She also wants to see details about any properties we are considering. She works in real estate?"

"She does."

He didn't say more, and after a while, she let her thoughts trail off to reveling in being back home after a week away. She had missed the scent of this place, the odd echo of the caverns, the warmth of the fire in the living room that greeted her. Ever since their private ceremony in front of Nadir and Meg, Erik had continuously brought up buying other properties, and she had humored him, looking at various apartments inside Paris or larger, sprawling homes in the country.

When she stepped inside, she was thrilled to see a little Christmas tree arranged in the corner of the room. She gave a happy little cry and rushed over to it, tenderly touching the ornaments – a miniature Boston terrier for her university, a tiny beach scene, a glass rose, a piano, a violin, a book that actually opened and closed.

Erik was in the middle of pulling her suitcase into their shared bedroom. She tracked him down and launched herself into his arms, tugging him down for a rather sloppy kiss, her lips grinning against his.

"I love it!" she said between kisses. "It's perfect."

"I'm glad you think so," he murmured, holding her tightly.

"I'm so sorry I missed our first Christmas. Can we have a do-over tomorrow? Just you and me? We can cook a meal, trade presents, make peppermint hot chocolate, and stay in our pajamas all morning."

His lithe fingers swept along her neck, caressing away her curly hair. "Anything."

Now that she was finally home, sleep was starting to tug at her eyelids. She took his hands and pulled him into the bathroom with her. "I really need a bath and then some sleep. Would you join me?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Sometimes she forgot that only a month had passed since they had been reunited after so much time apart, during those awful weeks when she had traveled across Europe singing in bars and wondering where he was. They had grown so much closer and more comfortable with each other, but maybe this was pushing it.

But he finally nodded and shrugged out of his jacket as she began to run the bath. She busied herself with the water, checking the temperature and adding her favorite bubble bath mixture to the water. The scent was kind of flowery, but Erik always seemed to notice… in a positive way… when she bathed in it. She shed her shirt and pants, and turned off the water once it had reached more than halfway up the side of the large bathtub.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Erik staring off to the side, shirtless, his fingers hovering at his pants. She didn't comment on his indecision, just quickly slid off her underwear and unclasped her bra, lying the padded garment on a nearby chair before stepping into the tub. The hot water felt heavenly against her travel-weary skin, her sore muscles already starting to loosen. Leaning back, she closed her eyes with a sigh.

The rasp of clothing, and she heard Erik enter the tub opposite her. She waited until he had settled before she cracked open her eyes. He had mimicked her position – his head tilted back against the lip of the tub, arms on either side, long legs tucked on either side of hers, his knees two sharp points rising out of the bubbles.

He was wearing his mask, still, even though he had shed the wig, and she frowned at that.

"Erik, love?" she said softly.

He peered at her, down his nose, his head remaining reclined. "Yes?"

"Things are okay, right? Between us?" She bit her lip. She was _so tired_ , and really shouldn't be trying to talk right now, but she had missed him so much while she was away. She hated feeling like there was distance between them.

He held out a hand, and she scooted closer to take it. Grasping her fingers, he bent her hand so he could kiss the ring on her finger, then gently prodded her until she had spun around in the bath, facing away from him. Then his arms came around her, tugging her down against the slick warm of his chest, his body fitting against hers.

"I missed you," he said, his mouth close to her ear, and he grazed his teeth against the shell.

She shivered despite the warmth of the water. "I thought you were mad at me."

His arms tightened. " _Mad_? How could I?"

"But I thought- because of Christmas-"

The water lapped, bubbles rising around them, as he suddenly shifted, turning her sideways and drawing her onto his lap. She might have blushed at the intimate position had they been talking about happier subjects.

His eyes were intense. "Beloved, you accomplished everything you needed to do within that trip, and I am _so proud_ of you." Her throat tightened, and she was unable to reply. He stroked her bare back with one hand, his other cupping her cheek. "I was selfish, I admit, and horrid company for the Daroga. However, I could never have stopped you from going, never dreamt of keeping you here."

She found her voice. "And now we can legally get married."

"Yes."

She paused, hesitating. For a little while, she tucked her head under his chin and listened to the steady thumping of his heart beneath his damp skin. They had come such a long way to be able to be in such a position, together, naked beneath the bubbles. His fingers danced along her spine, up and down her arm, the gesture soothing.

Without lifting her head, she murmured, "Hey, Erik?"

"Mm?" He sounded more relaxed now.

"I didn't want to really mention this when I left, because there was so much other stuff going on." She chewed on her lip. The hand rubbing her back slowed. "I had my usual check up with my oncologist back at home. It was just routine," she added quickly, "but she said I needed to get on Tamoxifen as soon as possible. I kinda put it off longer than I should have, with everything that's been going on."

"Tamoxifen?" he echoed, his low voice a rumble in her ear.

"It helps prevent cancer from coming back." She swallowed and curled up against him. The water was starting to turn tepid. "I need to go on it for at least two years, but probably more like five, depending on how things go and if the side effects don't bother me too much. I won't be able to, ah, have children during that time." She squirmed a bit. "There is no guarantee that I can even have children. Physically, things seem to be okay, but we won't know until we try."

His arms tightened around her. After a long moment of silence, he said quietly, "You are my everything, Christine. A child would only add to that, and the lack of one would not detract. Besides…" He snorted. "What if I passed along this face? The lack of blood-related children would help me avoid dwelling on such a possibility."

She noted his specific word-choice of "blood-related." If she couldn't have children, would he consider adopting? He had told her so little about his own background, of where he came from, of whether or not he had family. She knew his recently-created papers were forged, and she figured that meant he didn't have a real birth certificate. She wouldn't mind adopting a child sometime in the future; so many kids needed families.

But then he had mentioned his face. She twisted in his arms, reaching up to lay a hand against the white porcelain of his mask, which was slightly warm from the steam of the bath. "Why are you wearing this?"

He bent his head slightly to the side to avoid her touch. Was he afraid she would try to pull it off? "You haven't seen _this_ in eight days. I sought to spare you the shock so soon after your return."

" _Erik!_ " She scooted off his lap and spun to face him so quickly, sudsy water slopped over the edge of the tub. "After all this time, do you really think I care about your _face_?" He had been so nonchalant when she told him about her medicine, about how they would have to wait a long time to try, and she wasn't even sure if she _could_. She had been traveling all day, missing him the entire week, and all she wanted to do was curl up with him in bed and sleep.

She couldn't help it. The exhaustion finally weighed her down, and she buried her face in her hands as she began to cry.

She heard Erik exit the tub, felt the water churn around her as he stepped out. The sounds of a towel rustling followed, then his arms were slipping under her, lifting her from the tub. The water had already turned lukewarm, and now she started to shiver from the blast of cool air on her wet skin. Her vision hazy, she was aware of Erik toweling her off before sweeping her back into his arms.

"I can walk," she retorted without heat.

He grunted in response, bringing her into their bedroom. After he laid her on the bed, he turned to stoke the fire, and soon, the flames went wild, warmth licking across her skin. Erik turned back to her, a towel fitted across his waist, his pale skin aglow. Despite how much he tried to hide from her, she could see the pain flicker across his face, a mixture of emotions, all of which she had seen before.

"Come here," she whispered, and he did.

The two of them shed their towels and slipped beneath the covers. Soon, her shivering quailed. Once she was warm again, he took her hand and pressed it to his mask, beseeching her to do what she liked.

"You know I am yours," he said, breath intermingling with her own, their lips almost touching.

"I know." She slid off his mask and replaced it with her palm. The ridges beneath her touch were at once familiar, more _him_ than the mask. Though he might never believe her, she loved his face and would never wish it changed. Because of this face, he had suffered so much, but without it, they would never have met. So many what ifs flashed through her head, and she closed her eyes against them, pressing her lips to his.

Briefly, she pulled back. "If we do manage to get pregnant… you know, down the road, you know the first thing I'll say when I see our baby?"

His single unmarred eyebrow raised in question. "Pray tell, dearest."

"You are _so_ beautiful."

His yellow eyes, glowing in the firelight, widened so white showed around the irises. He didn't need more explanation about what she meant. His surge forward was enough, the way he claimed her mouth with his, his body sliding atop hers, a knee between her legs, hands tangling within her damp hair.

Tomorrow, they would talk about houses and where they would live, and she would remind him again that she _liked_ their underground home, their sanctuary from the rest of the world. Maybe they would argue, maybe he would agree to keep it as a second home. Later, they would venture to the local marriage council office together, oh _god_ , out in the world together, but they could do it, maybe first thing in the morning before the offices became busy.

And later… later, she could wait to find out what would come _later_. For right now, those nimble fingers of his were searching lower, and his teeth were grazing on that point below her ear, and she had no idea what she was murmuring except that it was encouragement. His dark chuckle rolled across her skin, and they folded themselves into each other once again.

* * *

True to what he had said, Erik took her to apply for their civil union on Monday after she had arrived back in Paris. They had chosen a small, reclusive town hall outside of the city where few people would notice him out-of-place appearance.

Instead of his usual white mask – something noticeable and stand outish – he had donned a flesh-colored mask she had never seen before. From far away, no one could tell it wasn't his own face, and the first time she saw it, she had asked him to remove it immediately, the result too unnerving for her to take in large doses. If her reaction had bothered him, he didn't say, but she noticed he didn't wear it again except when he needed to appear in public.

Applying in person for their marriage certificate had gone smoothly, Erik's forged birth certificate and identification accepted without question. Afterward, they'd had dinner with Nadir and Meg at a restaurant with a reclusive back room that no doubt had cost a fortune. Being out and about the city at a reasonable hour of the day had seemed so normal and odd to Christine, who had the best evening and drank entirely too much wine.

The weeks couldn't pass quickly enough. During the time, Erik purchased a two-bedroom apartment in the city, one that came with in-building security just in case and prided itself in anonymity for its residents. They split their time between the two homes and began to look for a place outside the city – again, more at Erik's insistence than hers. She wasn't sure if she should be more annoyed by his thought that she _needed_ space outside of their home beneath the Palais, but he seemed to be driven by the want to provide for her; she saw little reason to continue to argue.

Finally, four weeks later, Nadir drove her to the airport to pick up her mother. Anna was a bit cranky from the long plane ride, but otherwise in better spirits than Christine thought she might be, what with her daughter's impending marriage and all. Nadir dropped them off at the apartment, where Erik was waiting.

At long last, her mother and Erik met. At Christine's insistence, he had worn his usual white mask; she wanted Anna to meet Erik as he usually was, and she still couldn't stand the weirdly flesh-colored cover. When they entered the living room, Erik stood, offering a low, careful welcome.

Anna's eyes had widened at his appearance, despite how much Christine had prepared her, but to her surprise, her mother stepped forward and opened her arms. She was a hugger, after all, and Erik didn't seem beyond that sort of greeting, which Christine saw as a sign that things would go well.

Christine hid her grin behind a hand at Erik's perplexed look. However, he recovered quickly, stepping forward and allowing her mother to slip her arms around his torso in a quick hug. Then he had dipped his head in his own usual way, offering a more French hello and presenting the flowers he himself had chosen from the flower shop earlier that day.

That seemed pretty much all he had to do. Anna beamed and side-hugged him again, and Christine couldn't stop smiling at them both. This, _this_ was what she had wanted!

The next morning, they met Nadir and Meg at city hall, early enough to avoid any sort of crowds. Erik wore the flesh-colored mask again, but she understood why and left him alone about it. He wore a simple dark blue suit and matching tie, choosing to dress a little less formally so he didn't stand out as much. She had already worn white once, and so she decided on a rose-pink dress with a long dark coat.

Their friends and her mother at their side, they said their vows, signed the papers, and they were officially married.

Nadir had hired a limousine so they could all ride together to and from the city hall, which was about an hour from Paris. On the drive back, he popped a bottle of champagne and poured glasses for all of them. To Christine's relief, Erik turned away a moment to switch out his masks, and she kissed him deeply afterward, ignoring the grins of the other people present.

Once back in Paris, they dropped Meg off at her apartment, and Anna at her hotel, and then they roamed the streets of the city in their limousine, which sent Christine into random giggling fits at the absurdity. Nadir popped in and out at various stops, collecting wine at one store, a small chocolate cake at another, and Indian take-out food at the last. They ate holding the food on their laps, trading stories from the past six months. Lacking plates, they dug their forks into the cake all at once, and Christine insisted on taking a picture with her phone.

Full and ready to head home, Christine snuggled up to Erik's side, loving the way he automatically tucked an arm around her and drew her closer still. Nadir had toed off his shoes and was grumbling about wanting his first cigar in years.

And then his cell phone rang.

Not sitting up, Nadir fished out his phone and held it up to his ear. "Nadir Khan speaking." Whatever he heard next caused him to rise up then, concern flashing across his face. "Is that so? And what are you doing about it?" He listened, then snapped in an uncharacteristically harsh tone, "Yes, of course _that_ is what I would do next. Call me back within five hours with an update."

He hung up and tossed the phone onto the seat beside him. "That was Alexei."

Erik's voice was cool, but Christine could feel how his body tensed. "He hasn't had reason to call you in… how long? Three years?"

"About."

"What did he want?"

Nadir puffed an annoyed sigh mixed with worry. "New reports about you have been surfacing. We can only guess who has stirred them around."

Christine looked between the two men. "Are these the Shah's men again?"

"Not so much," Nadir said, "though I wouldn't doubt they were spreading the rumors. Alexei is my Russian informant."

Of course. That made sense.

The two men were silent for a long time, but the looks they exchanged spoke of a conversation happening between them that Christine was not privy to. She felt a sort of panic start to swell within her, the knowledge that Erik's past could easily rise up in an attempt to dismantle their lives once again. But this time, she wasn't going to be cast aside.

"Where are they?" Erik said, his voice so low she almost didn't hear.

"Spain."

"Awesome," Christine interjected. "I've always want to go to Spain."

She found herself the focus of two pairs of disbelieving eyes. At once, both of them began to protest. She heard talk of where she would go to wait for them, the best safe places, perhaps even back to Switzerland for a time. Who knew what the Russians had heard? Christine let them squabble for a while before she held up a hand.

"I'm going." She turned in her seat to face Erik, whose neck was flushed in a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Please, Erik. I'm your _wife_ , not someone who can just be swept aside whenever I become inconvenient. I knew very well what I was getting into when I married you. Besides, I remember very clearly that you pledged to remain by my side for the rest of your days. There was nothing in there about leaving me behind whenever life gets tough."

He took her hands in his, his grip squeezing hard in his shaken state. "Christine, Spain-"

"Sounds like a lovely place for our honeymoon." She rubbed a thumb across his ring. "I'm going. You won't be able to stop me." When his gaze turned pleading, she kissed his knuckles and pressed her cheek to them. "My love, we are in this _together_. Always."

Nadir spoke up. "If you're going to insist, you'll need to be willing to follow our lead, to stay where we ask you to when we ask you to."

She nodded. "Of course."

"Erik, I hate to admit it, but she's right. Who knows how often this will happen. Will you leave her behind every time?"

"I'd follow you anyway," she added.

Nadir pressed a button to speak with the driver, letting him know that this was his stop. As he got out of the limo, he bent down to wish them goodnight. "We'll talk more tomorrow. For now, rest and enjoy your first night as a wedding couple." His lips upturned in a gentler smile. "Try not to worry too much about this. We can work out the details in time." The latter seemed to be directed at Erik, who wasn't looking at either of them. Christine exchanged good nights with him, and then it was just the two of them left.

They didn't speak as the driver took them to the curb of their apartment. Erik exited first, offering a hand to her, which she took, the leftovers of the cake balanced on her other palm. He thrust a thick wad of cash at the driver, then escorted her through the back entrance to their secondary home.

Once inside, Christine eased off her heels and coat, and set her belongings on the counter, along with the cake. She took off the plastic top and ran her finger along the chocolate icing before sticking it in her mouth. Erik was watching her, but she couldn't decipher his look.

"So this is how it will be?" he asked, eyes narrowed into two golden slits.

She wasn't intimidated, at all. Oh, was he mad about her insistence on tagging along? Too bad for him. She savored the chocolate frosting on her finger. "Yep."

Before she knew what was happening, he had stalked closer, his gait that of a predator moving in on its prey, and he had her backed against the counter, the marble countertop cold against her back.

"You have no idea what you might be getting into, beloved _wife_."

"Oh?" Her finger sought the cake at her elbow, and quickly, she swiped a chocolate smear across his lips.

She might have laughed at his shocked expression had she not quickly followed the frosting with her lips and tongue, licking at the corner of his mouth, prodding his lips apart so she could intermingle the taste of sugar with the dark taste of him.

He groaned against her mouth, the sound primal and pulled from within him against his will. Already, she knew she had won. But that didn't matter right now; they would have time yet for details and debates. Right now, she sought yet more frosting, and this time, he caught her wrist, his lips enfolding her finger and sending molten lava coursing through her veins.

"This isn't over, dearest."

Yes, it was. But her mind was focusing elsewhere, and she drew a leg around his hips, throbbing with sudden need. "Now," she begged, tugging his shirt from his pants. "Now, now, now."

Their hands tore at each other's clothing until enough was moved out of the way. Her skirts were lifted, his hips canted between her thighs, and she gasped as he slid into her, the line of the counter digging into her back, her elbow sinking into the cake.

They were married, and who knew what the future would bring. But she focused on the rigid surety of him inside her, the muscles of his arms strong around her, the bite of his teeth at her throat. They were two people so well matched, they seemed made for each other, and yet the road to bring them together had been so long, so well fought, that she had wondered if they would ever sync up.

He breathed her name against her skin, and she found his lips again, and her future had never seemed clearer at that moment. She belonged at his side, and he at hers, and the rest would work itself out, as it always had.

"Gods, I love you," he groaned into the small space between them.

She answered with yet another kiss, her lips curling into an easy smile.

* * *

 **The End.**


End file.
